Altars and bedposts
Self-pity, slave to redemption,
relishing in sin, resolute on change
gripping altars and bedposts–
Oh, the place of forever forgiveness:
begging for another antithesis of happiness,
seduced by clean slates and benevolent determination
yearning to scrawl dirt on this dead man’s walls
emphasizing my empathy for the lonely,
you forgive my forever forgiveness
or chalk another tally of public propitiation?
Happiness. . .I think not
When you wish,
make a list,
and finally open it
(happiness). . .I think not.
I love you, yes, but cannot lie:
I waste time lying in your arms.
Does guilt consume when I kiss you?
I feel alive only when second-guessing?
Passing the same wooden fence
Don’t know the road
I’m on highway 20.
Another thumb appears
could I spare a seat
for I’m lost looking for a sign?
Plenty, yes, problem’s finding mine,
beginning to doubt my confidence
passing the same wooden fence
passed a few moments passed.
Copper pennies
Copper pennies rolling across hardwood floors
camouflaged by stain, heavy spit from change jars,
“Messy chunks!”
I yell inside as pennies wave farewell:
split onto the floor–
another relationship gathers spare change,
but solid the jar still stays–albeit sideways–
ready for another handful of unwanted memories
and thoughts of distrust culminating in
bills beckoning a deeper exchange
Wouldn’t change a thing
if I was sad or a tad smiling,
I wouldn’t change a thing for
I’m happy if you don’t want me,
to be the one wanting you
every moment till the day I die.
He’s got something for me,
and I’m not sure it’s someone–
don’t care to know,
because I wouldn’t change a thing
every moment till the day I die.
Greens go hunting
greens go hunting
and white glows,
the clouds signal rain,
yet none shows,
the wind carries melody
through screened in windows
to my ear space
sweet and mellow,
books cry “Read me!”
but the music screams, “Go!”
Another helping of rain
Can’t help hoping for another helping of rain
narrated by thunder and barn’s bang
as hues transform twilight and night slowly covering
a saturated sun setting behind dark clouds hovering,
swinging the spectrum on a pendulum that humidies hang
tragically, intimately close to my heart’s pain.
See me, sea wood floating
See me, sea wood floating upon the sea
not even a wave asking, not believing.
I believe if I were wood I would see
if I could stop being sea wood.
Hmmm?. well….
No buildings would be formed–
no use, not even fire on the shore
– James 1:6
The night after
The dial-tone returned, and I lied silently down
re-associating us into singular pronouns,
surely, I’ll wake from what my subconscious’s unwound,
for yet no tear or murmuring of sound,
but this phone’s clock blinks only three here,
maturity or just callousness as I fear?
Can’t help but call grace, mother–
forgiven, madness today, forgiving madness another,
forcing resentment resolved
by persons entirely uninvolved,
waiting for our critics critiquing,
sick of “but so sweet and cute”– as if comforting?!
and rehearsing witnessing words of an evangelist,
cramming faith into a one minute gist.
The night after–kettle corn is popping,
adhering to uncle’s doc’s rule of no butter sopping.
Launching kernels into the air, I catch 22:
if I hate or love, I consume you.
If you must consume me to live alone, again
Then, eat and let the rest of our lives begin.
Boy watches
Boy watches girl sitting on bananas–
surrounded in road signs, pin-ups, and pop-ups–
ripping CD’s and a heart far away bleeding,
making a “love-making” mix for a friend
for his 21st and last birthday.
One more cuticle from a hangnail,
as actions appoint us owners of everyone’s future;
deciding right and wrongs momentarily–
autonomous and lonely as a form-filled mailbox.