he bums a smoke, a light,
and looks away.
the lines in his face, jaw set,
like a map to where
he cant quite remember.
he watches the smoke
curl up like infidel prayers
lost on a street corner,
to the lights and the noise.
dont look too close!
you might find your self
staring back at you
from the day after tomorrow!
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crows bark,
grass moans,mountains whimper like children.trees groan and turn,rivers dance in silence.owls speak Greek and Hebrew,and cattle speak in tongues.snakes plant corn by moonlight,and snails dance in the dark.turtles carry messages from god,and hawks search the skies for truth.buddhas laugh…and small children know.why have we forgotten?
he turns over
of an invisible alley….his puke stained collargreets the morning sun.he focuses his eyes,sets his jaw, and stands up.the beeper of the trash truckbounces off his mind.fumbling for a cigarette,his last, he lights up…kicks the empty bottle aside.squinting at the sun,too early for the soup kitchen….a patrol car passes, going slow.the memory of a lifetimebitter in…
you are convinced…
a deviant, a rebel,a lost cause….what if your motherlived in Iran,Afghanistan, Syria,or even North Korea?would you want to dropthe bombs then?what if your fatherwas on Death Row?convicted of a crimeyou knew he didnt commit?would you still votefor the death penalty?what if your sister,strung out and desperate…was a whore on the corner?would you still wantto cut…
the soul dies in the body’s tears,
weeps with empty fullness.my heart does not speak to me,we walk in silence…veterans of wars you cant imagine,returning to homeless streets.and the bodies of touch and wanting,are strewn with a beautiful horror.yet the guilt is named to be forgotten,as memory turns to vanity.the sins we wear on the outside,are nothing to the sins we carry…
years ago…
as a male aide.and i used to sitwith the elderly,as they lay dying,who often had no familyto be there.and i learned one ofthe great truths of life…listen!to the stories of living,to both the pain,and the joy,in the voice…to the hope thatcan only be faith…to the hum of love.to the defiant heart beating,to the soundof the…
a poet is only an ear,
becomes less,when he has a name,even less a title.the best lay downtheir pens andpick up shovels,turning the earth instillness, season by season.open the windowsand doors to the heart,and sweep out the trash.leaving gifts for the soul,the tiny droppings of birds,that just took flight…a small mound of ashes,a tiny wisp of smoke!the imprint of a kisson…