A Song Once Sung To An Infant Under The Gun.

Today the time ran out

just as it had begun—

Hot water fills the tub

you swore you’d never become—

It’s warm and shallow now

cut servings for only one—

The echo down the hall, well

that’s just yesterdays love—

Now it’s all become a song once sung

to an infant under the gun.

Today the moon refused

to trade place with the sun—

Sidewalks full of people

but still you know only one—

It’s an impossible force

that drags you from yourself—

Now it’s all become a song once sung

to an infant under the gun.

I try, you know I do, to balance

fault lines and faith, the surgeons

steel blade, it draws a bridge between both—

It’s a symphony of simple things

that will seem eclipsed by the sun—

Cause it’s all become a song once sung

to an infant under the gun.

California, 2020

Love & Fear

They’ll
cut
you
like
a
knife,
you know,
and
leave
you
in
an
instant,
scarred —
yet
polar
opposites
they
attract
one another —
it’s true,
I’ve
seen
their
workings
and they,
are pure,
they
are
direct,
they
hold
no
prejudice,
except
for
those
they
love
and fear.

Nothing ever is that cut and dry.

Take me with a grain of salt

then throw me over your shoulder.

It’s the only way I know,

self taught and still figuring it out.

Just a pinch is enough though.

Nobody wants high blood pressure.

Oh, but we’re all so practiced

in the art of innocence.

I hear you when you give thanks

but that doesn’t mean I believe you.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t too.

Nothing ever is that cut and dry.

Is it?

Now, this is the part

where you throw me over your shoulder.