In her dreams drools, makes a ravine runs
past his naked ankles. At first morning light
they bathe each other in the stream
behind their house.
When her father dies,
the pie she bakes is moist with tears.
Her absence leaves splotches of sadness

from where they rest their heads to where
her father rests forever.
Her long dark hair
is a rolodex of grief his thin fingers caress.

Outside an oak. Rings within mark
drought one year, another a volley of storms
harsh enough to scoop roofs off homes,

the new & old cherished ways in which
the man shows the Cherokee mistress
his adoration’s maturation. She returns
weeps grief into her coffee, his hot grits.

What sadness he kisses from underneath
her shadowed knees hidden like secrets

He loves her. He never has to tell her—
she counts in firewood the years she’s knows.

***

I know it’s been a while, so I hope my return isn’t seen as intrusion. Be well y’all.

Poets Note: sorry I have a thing for alternative titles…

I’ve been kissed by life!

wondering what tomorrow may hold.

with this pen I spill words over lines

because tomorrow has yet to be told

I can no longer wonder what it may hold and bring

today is here

and yesterday still haunts me

though I’ve drowned that pitiful day in a bottle of Gin,

it seems to be with me yet here again… 

so beneath the suns rays

kissed by life,

pondering tomorrow with spilled words over lines

as yesterday still haunts me drowned in a bottle of Gin,

I speak words

poetically

like I’ve done this for years….

Illuminati

Templar Knight’s of old
sworn to secrecy
enlighten men so bold
perfect circle never ends
ILLUMINATI
perfect circle never ends
enlighten men so bold
sworn to secrecy
Templar knights of old

Undead
Shell burst tears bodies
I run and duck past debris
My hometown has changed

The streets were pure,
the sand bleached clean.

Too soon I watched
the lighthouse crumble,
as I walked a street
strewn with red feathers.

Clockwork scorpions crawled
from the baking sands,
injecting their amber poison,
to kill me.

Ghosts walk the streets now,
ghosts I know, where once
they were strangers to me.

I find myself in a place that goes against the grain.

Most would say to hold my words, to do the logical thing,

But I have no choice in this if I wish to remain human.