The Debtors' Bridge

Chunks of foundation

Laid inspiration

To rebuild a bridge

Severed by a rusty saw

She sat and pondered

Reflected, wondered,

At architecture

Which [once] ignited awe

With slight weakened might

She built it up right

Only to tumble

Back through

A little gray rail

Quaking, trembled still

In memory of

today’s bill past due

Faith

Into the valley she ambled.

Down,

            down,

                        down. 

Tunneling through tunnels. Dusty funnels no end in sight, yet waiting for that inevitable light to gleam.

The smoke came first.

Still she walked.

Vision hazy and hair gray with ash.

Rocks beneath began to burn.

Still she walked.

Feet blistered and shoes with melting soles.

Fire burst before her.

Still she walked.

Skin charring and mouth thick with flame.

The air began to cool.

Still she walked.

Her blackened body shedding to the ground,

rough

            bitter

                        flakes. The tunnel opened to a weeping sky.

Still she walked.

Her naked limbs raw and fresh and her hands reaching up

to the One she trusted. 

Lost in Thought

seeking words--the "right" words,
my breadcrumbs
though most were already
traded between blatherskites and insatiable sparrows,

I saunter
    (no, definitely not)
I stroll
    (no, not quite)
I stumble
    (yes, there it is)
down an unofficial trail created
by others' confidence

the others walk in moon's faint glow
overstepping when necessary
skipping like stones skimming a placid sound
in spite of strong currents

they smell the wind to see the future
kiss the crinkle of Wisdom's eye
fall in step with Catcher's dance in a field of rye
then climb the oaks and taunt the sun with their freedom.

they created this passage when nothing was paved,
no signs to direct the saved;
not even loathsome specks of lonesome gravel
hitching rides in the crevices of the sole.



the "right" words,
are here somewhere
the trail is littered with them
and yet, I sit,
my footing caught
under a root.
The empathetic sun
consoles and shoos the clouds
away.

The words I had collected
curl, shrivel, become dust
swept by wind and forgotten.
The disgusted sun
leaves and beckons Nature's spate
The root stops clutching
now, merely holds
but I stay under its loose grip
dreaming of being an other.

Communion

stepping back to observe the work,

its contrasting layers
formed by the collaboration
of various disputing artists,

realization strikes sparking a desire

set my painting ablaze

or to whitewash
over the graffiti
or, maybe, a simple do-over

But there is no such thing
as an empty canvas
even the fibers woven
and prepped and stretched
have their story

my Teacher comes
knowing the brushstrokes,
of my over-produced landscape,
my inheritance
a crude interpretation
of the assignment
and with gentle offertory,
a new brush with ancient handle
dipped in red, 

gripped 

His hand covering mine,
we paint

Confession

 

As you insist to squat 
In that dank sour creature 
Sowing so deep in the sea,
Do you ever wonder,
What will your legacy be?

Will you spout out with joy?
Will freedom abound?
Or will all those bad promises 
keep you locked and bound?

Will you pray to your God 
whom you do not faithfully follow
because the Truth is 
just too difficult to swallow

Will you fret to remember to lock your doors
but forget childhood was already squandered 
keeping monsters under the floors &
leaving the land of “if” un-wandered

Will the secrets in which you abide
conform into your only comfort 
containing a corpse chosen to confide
in a ramshackle whalebone fort

Will you sullenly agree
to pay the Devil’s fee
for what’s a few more years?
To choke back those tears 
with your caloric drug of choice 
To put a smile on your face & 
a lilt in your voice

To stay, stay, stay in your whale for a while
To tidy up the darkness
To sweep up the bile 
To just stay, stay, stay in your whale for a while.

First Love

When we were we

an eleemosynary 

tangle

we

exchanged 

pieces of us

splinters of spirit

       thorns in our side

Unintentionally

I will yearn

recreate and remember 

all wrong

Struggle to find the

lyrics

of that old song 

of that sliver of soul 

i mistakenly

            [on purpose]

gave away.

Miles in between

you are…

            I am…

you            and             me

never we

never us

            (never again anyway)

but i have…

             you have…

and [we] wander

with pieces of you

and pieces of me

Mama Dogs

 

It broke my heart

not to point to that floating contraption

in the sky

as we drove by

your eyelids, finally heavy &

naturally purple & highlighted by dusk,

would have popped open

alert, wondering, at the bright, weightless, Ghost

dangling above

With its

Sibilant then silent sulk

It broke my heart

when “On second thought,”

came too late

and trees gobbled the monster

into hiding

like a New Mother Dog

            too nervous,

            wanting to protect her pup,

            not realizing

            then realizing

I wonder my child,

If it breaks His heart

when second thoughts come too late

when we fall asleep

when we wake, still asleep,

not aware

of the Creation

we are missing

lost and gobbled

up by dreams of trees and lingering Ghosts and protective Mama Dogs and Nothing in between

Godot Shows

We live in a land of Want

            confounded by Desire’s flashy pulse/confused into thinking that Our

Wants are Ours and Ours alone

We live in a land of Want

            We have rewritten

            Our definitions

Want: (1) to need. (2) an emotion that is dangerous if not fulfilled Immediately

In this land,

everything We need is questioned by Our Want

I don’t want to clean my house, bathe, brush my teeth, eat my carrots

I [just] Want to escape, to dream, to rationalize

I [just] Want my entitlements fulfilled

I [just] Want the world to sigh and laugh and love with every word;

posted 1 4 0 character note, cyber publication, impossible to ignore: Immortal

In this land,

We walk with

invisible cameras documenting Our

Every move

Every word

Every. Every. Every

In this land,

We walk like Zombies [the apocalypse has already happened—didn’t you know?] through Our lives [it’s catching]

waiting for immediate gratification to come

waiting            waitingwaiting

Did Godot ever show? Waiting. Waiting.

Our only patience is with Ourselves

Time is Master to the Others. Not Us.

But Others think they are Us. And We are Us. And We

must be served by Others.

But Others are extinct

And it is only Us/We

So, We must service Ourselves

So, let’s just wait

Maybe an Other will appear.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe

The Storm

Blue lights flicker;

drunken leaves laugh,

plaster themselves

to glass with transparent desperation,

the wind tap, tap, taps at the window

becoming the

demented queen, her beauty shrouded by inner qualities

yearning to give glistening apples to maidens

delicious and red, guaranteed to satisfy

the men of the house.

Beware Sweets, don't linger near the door too long

She will sweep you away

Clutching you into her bosom

Until you crave even the most dominating Sun

gripping you into her sad chilling song.