a bitter burn
on shriveled tongue.
rising bile.
turned shoulder.
left to dust
and ruin.
praying for solution—
dilution—
Brother, can you spare
a cup
of water.
5/9/19
I write things and put them on the Internet.
a bitter burn
on shriveled tongue.
rising bile.
turned shoulder.
left to dust
and ruin.
praying for solution—
dilution—
Brother, can you spare
a cup
of water.
5/9/19
In like a lion–
the skies grey
and unforgiving.
Marching on.
The woman ahead of me,
it’s 10 AM,
she’s got two
twenty-ounce
cans of Coors on
the counter.
And nothing else.
I’m holding tight
to my soda pop;
my tears tell me–
sugar’s too low.
I need the lift.
I’m addicted to my sadness.
I keep falling
off that wagon.
But the tulips
are rising–
their pale purple
not so different
from that unforgiven sky.
3/1/18
Yea though I walk upright,
the clouds pass
their shadows through the valley.
Every living thing
knows of the shadow of death.
In its ice-grip clutches
I shall fear what is to be
and regret what comes to pass.
There is no evil greater.
3/7/17