Saturday, December 19, 2020

We don't talk anymore
We don't fight
We swung 'round in orbit
In the cold
In the dark

Suicide
Suicide
I couldn't take anymore

It wasn't the violence
But the cold that bit so deeply

We don't talk anymore
And I'm glad

I'm in a better place
And it has been a long time
The scars that burned so deeply
Will never fully heal

The zombie anger and resentment
Lurches through my mind
I can't bury it
So I vomit it on paper
In bile I say goodbye

We don't talk anymore
File under miscellaneous

Sunday, November 22, 2020

a song of freedom
wakes up the morning with 'yes,
here I am,' it floats
in the air, bold and fragile,
'this is my territory'

its heart flutters and
beats - in the wild, survival,
is to sing for home
(just a small urban corner),
it is to sing for love

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

tick, tick the countdown
US election day looms
anxiety - hope

Wednesday, October 28, 2020

my brain spins and spins
with thoughts of you. I'm lonely
and obsessed and blue,
but must drop the pretense of
us being together.
The summer sun will climb
in the sky again
but now the year
falls to winter.
I am cold and in the dark,
enclosed.
I must walk in the autumn sun.
I must shower and shave.
I must move through life
as if animated by a spark.

True anomaly at Epoch -
I spin in orbit
locked.

Wednesday, September 23, 2020

The corn in the sunlight
shivers before the harvest,
as the wheel of the year turns.
We eat the bread.
We drink the wine.
The year is reborn.
The sun returns.
We endure winters.
We work and we sleep.

The landscape is stubble
shaved by the Reaper.
In the Spring, we will
plough it under and
plant seeds.

The landscape is stubble
shaved by the Reaper.
Plough it under and
plant seeds in the Spring.