Isolation

It is as cold

as a steel locket,

isolation

loosely hangs

two chains from a collar,

white as bone, worn

from the hours, of nuance

carefully placed by the bedside,

waiting to be opened

polished and willing

as obligatory as peace

before, the inevitable dawn

which beckons us to

repeat, our autumnal fall

from the burdens we carry.

Colorado

on the road to nowhere fast

holy rock and stone flies pass

speeding sky dawn’s overcast

where mountain gulch

stream onward fast—we drive

on happy high of summers past

At the end of the day

At the end of the day

we’re all just

butthole tissue

flesh, bone, and spirits

away from the truth

if there is any, well

we’ll surely find out

at the end of the day.

So keep it clean cause

you’ll never really know

until you do, I guess.

Our Mind’s Eye

We mustn’t shy away from fear

but rather dive face first

into it’s claws letting it tear our flesh

from cheek to chin and gnaw

on our skulls if not only to

release ourselves from our mind

whose eye is so often filled with fear.