In HAsTE

         The flights she climbed
     to reach the heights of sublime
     love, felt and lost in an instant
        of madness; all because
                 she said yes,

                      while

  the toymaker only played a game
 to make her smile, while at the same
  time, breaking her heart in an instant
          of madness; all because
                  she said, no

                       wait!






                                                                               don't go.

A Crime Of Passion

The white faces with a nose of slope
where sight slides
right down, landing right
at my center with the light
hearted fun of candy corn
that bites like licorice.

An extra layer of mountainous flesh
hides this hearts' beat;
so it might continue despite
the tragedy of broken bones
and words funneled through cones
of melted bits I scream
into dark rooms that echos it back;

where the he's and she's care less
about the buckets of thoughts
stacked side by side
inside the halls of this soul,
the only visitors to grace
its presence. If only they'd unpack,
hanging a picture or two, I know
the echos would surely cease?

Broken

The knuckles rubbed raw

from the sandpaper walls,

punched! in the face

on a route to escape

from the lever

pulled and engaged, forever

on the very same day

the rule, always to obey,

broken

with words that never should've been spoken;

guaranteed never to be, again.

A(sad)PART

...Looking through the window to pain...

   The voice of reason said, "Let it go."
And she replied, "Okay, it's time."
                                                      -- and so she did.

goodbye, my friend.













-------------------------------------------------------------

Breakdown

She found the key to the shed
where the tools and the go cart
waited like a death bed.

She knew just what tool to pull
from the dust covered shelves,
tinkering with this and that.

She rode that go cart
with the greatest of ease; until
the day she decided to leave,

where she left the go cart to sit
on the side of the road where its
oil drips, to emptiness.

By The Way

The highway moves fast, inside
the unending swoosh sound
of the people moving on
with their lives,
   passing by
this ol' clunker,
propelling this ol' soul
from place to place; only
ready to collapse at any moment:
unless, the guard rail
jumps out of the way.

A Part Without The Why

 

 

a gift lost

is still a gift

even if

it hurts like hell!

 

 

 

 

----and the weeper weeps----

for evermore.

Indigestion

The day before I died, the air

smelled like stale bread.

 

My eyes dripped and drained

as the words once heard, silenced

by the fear of confessions made,

too soon,

after the wine and bread were

swallowed and absorbed; leaving a bad

taste to linger for eternity

from the acid of

love soured.

 

Contained

The special glass, filled

with nectar; slips

like a shattering heart
from the grip
of hands, weak

from holding, without

it ever being
                      tasted.

succumb

the rain could not
wait more than
a day to visit
the newly
planted garden;

and now, sadly
the winds, they
blow from a new
direction, as

the garden withers,
waiting for winter
to come
and destroy
the thirsting foliage.

from ruth

      out the back door
beyond the depths of hope,
   the doe ran and ran
      released from the womb
                                of love: with tears
                                                    shed for the light
                                                                  of a new dawn ;

                                                                                            . . .

A Reminder

A trip of trips,
planned down to
the shoes to shampoo
necessities for the taking;

Music to sing
the journey, begins... until;

Eyeballin' the map, only for a second;
      -- sight lost--

Death, at the end of a fiery crash:
       --the destination ain't near as important, as getting there--

Sniper

The shooter offers nothing
to the words and actions
without a home; never to be reined-

in. The clench of a jaw, snapped
and the silence broke into
a slow death waiting for
the final plans to settle:
ten feet under.




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Free Flow

The impure blood,
courses through the
veins;           aimed,
straight for the heart,
races like a mud

slide after the storm.

Not afraid, the blade

cuts       the       pain,

free from the thoughts

trapped behind the life form

of a warden gone mad.

The pain, now free

runs    and      drains;

in a scarlet fervor down

the pages of a writing pad.

 

 

 

Grave Side

Daily visits to the tombstones
buried in the thoughts they left and
of the deaths made
from a closed heart
unable to give what it doesn't have. 
Daily mourns, with
hopes their deaths were at the
very least, peaceful.

Prison Walls

Reflected in the silence
are the voices lurking in the shadows;

movements strictly restricted
as the dance through the day

makes its way through
the sludge of innocence lost--

beyond the night's thickness
where the waiting intensifies:

Eyes closed, then open,
hoping it's only a dream.


-----------------

Barista Wanted

 

 

 

 

[a microwave assures hot coffee

at any given moment;

if of course, the pot

is filled every day or so]

 

 

 

 

In A Metered Breath

Without any means
  outside of the day
    inside of an hour
     the wind blew
       between these bones
          keeping me here;
            standing but holding,
              off the decay
             
      of shattered dreams.

Cold Is The Night

Under The Influence

The can popped; for starters,
until the pill hit like a sledge hammer
starting simple at first, then dragging it all
below the surface like orders.

Then her name echoes
off the walls filled with the rain
of a million tears; drowning the thoughts
into tomorrow's glass of mellow,

always waiting with a smile,
giving hope that tomorrow
it will be possible
to go, just a few more miles.