He plods down a street,
head bent, watching
the ground as if afraid
some detail will be enough
to tumble him into hell.
Every moment’s an edge
as each letter in each
word inscribes the air
cleanly, like a tattoo
cut freshly into skin.
(June 9, 2021)
The mud thickness
on my shoes,
as I plod along
singing.
I bend slowly
into the earth;
my voice swallowed
by the wind.
Except for names
of the dead faces,
I remember most
versions of the past;
the storied details
reassure me
that what I knew,
I know.
Despite other’s
revanchist revisions,
I hold to a path
which will lead me home.
(June 8, 2021)
The wild mustang grape vines
its way along the fence line,
further obscuring boundaries
between what is said,
and what is perpetuated.
The past is of no consequence
beyond familiar stories to bolster
today’s latest interpretation,
which momentarily coalesces
to cloak in ambiguity
the Absence as it festers
in vague nostalgic shadows.
(May 30, 2021)
How do we maintain a balance
between apart and a part?
Lean too far one way, one lose’s
humanity, too far toward the other,
and one loses one’s soul.
I am I, as you are you;
yet, I am also you, as you are me,
as well. There is no other way,
other than each other. The hope
of god’s redemption lies with us.
(May 30, 2021)
Outside, a butterfly flits
across the sun-dipped tips
of black-eyed Susans
swaying in the wind:
While inside, I struggle
with what to write.
(May 21, 2021)
Along convoluted back trails
misted in vague familiarity,
we wonder in our ruins,
grown strange and inevitable
across dry rivers and dead grass.
Former landmarks fall to rubble,
become base for new towers,
new ways, not ours.
Then as if by accident,
as if with purpose,
we arrive each moment,
near-sighted and deaf
to regale in our misfortune,
repeating yet another iteration
of the story we all wear,
like chains forged from dust.
(May 20, 2021)
yet another day
with another grey sunset,
my glass is empty.
(May 13, 2021)
I fear silence
for it leaves me
to my words.
Their whispers
mouth
my periphery,
like minnows
tear a worm’s
flesh from
the steel hook
glimmering
in a creek’s
slow eddy.
(May 11, 2021)
with spring’s violence flowers burst
into bloom from winter’s death
as chimes toll slowly in the tree
mere weeks ago ice creaked
tightly along the chase tree’s
twisted branches as the chimes
hung limp and people froze
to death alone at home
(May 9, 2021)
when listening to someone speak
each word takes root
along the tendrils of the unsaid
a pattern emerges
branch grafted on old wood
flowers to mourn the newly dead
(May 8, 2021)
