Gray-Bone Gristly Things
before being a mother before being a grandmother before being Born Again she was simply Muriel the memory of this former self preserved in red-lipstick pictures she’d loved a lot of men or she would have, had she known how and perhaps she still did, in her own way she ...
where we took our sanctuary
no one could touch us-- where we took our sanctuary outside the door addicts and criminals whispered and whimpered and shouted foul slurs in dark halls further, beyond the swinging glass doors blue-collar towns avoided their river-drownings by a mere few feet of elevation salvation, being mostly perspective my hands ...
devils, and angels
is this what you’d have of me? tho we've learned-- each time judgment’s dented axe swings its rust-speckled murder there is a lessening and is this what we’ve become? of all the rustle we’d once been hideous, and beautiful if there be any difference devils, and angels if there be ...
tall guards at the periphery
this midnight’s misting moonlight and Jupiter’s round pregnancy her three children, birthed now aligned shine their alabaster dust upon this place tho knowing that darkness had arrived before their wishful light aye, always existing-- tho knowing well this place inside the heart of a man of which no lovely lies ...
back door man
his voice crackles, cackling as the drunken jokes get worse the grizzle-chin fisherman wobbling next to me slaps the bar top his wedding band tap-tapping well off the music’s beat eyeing the bottle-blonde barkeep as he sings along with Jim the hippie “Back Door Man”, playing on the jukebox tho, ...
unconditional
The question had come up in early flirtation's curious conversation, each learning about the other, fencing at times, each bringing a lifetime of relationships, and more than a bit of past pain into their words. "Do you believe in unconditional love?" she'd asked. My answer was not popular among the ...
poetry of music
Don't you lock up something that you wanted to see fly. This guy gets it. Great cover of a timeless song. He made it his own. I know this is a poetry blog, peppered with other silly nonsense that I might write, but I've found myself thinking lately on the ...
restless, and familiar
she was ghastly and beautiful twisted and gnarled and I couldn’t turn my gaze her alabaster-dusted barnacle-crusted skull visible through chalk-frosted socket-shock frazzle her eyes sunken and darkened and splayed listless tho slowly churning yes, restless and familiar bulging-echo pits the color those shadows found skulking the corners of regret’s ...
gray and tilting
there'd once been a towering tree out back tho not an oak nothing so sturdy of girth upon which to tie hopeful silk bows and I'd watched it for years gray and tilting in the warm summer the boy and I cast our slingshot stones into the center of its ...