These Veil Thin Times

What I’ll never have answers for

Happened in the split of a second

And broke me for a lifetime in two

I can pick up the pieces sometimes

Mostly I have the strength, except

These other sometimes when

It all comes pouring out, when words

Make sense just enough to suffer again

A little less each time, though time

Time is often wearing me veil thin—

Like a dusting of snow covers ice—

I’m that unsuspecting victim

Trudging through a never ending dreamscape

Sidestepping, cautious through life

Hotel outside Orlando, 2011

The boy who cried gently to the wolf.

You can sense it you know,

yourself shutting down—again

with the change of scenery, again

with the change of heart.

It’s like trying to stop a freight train

running yourself empty, till

all there is is but to explode.

It’s a very empty place to be living.

It’s a very empty place to be born.

It’s a beautiful fall day, though, isn’t it?

Isn’t it beautiful, this

in depth exhibition of yourself—

without the guts, with all the answers

and nothing all that good say.

Again, another Fall. 2020

Yet still I turn to the East in longing.

I was nothing more than excuses,

a great big ball of disappointment

which she tried desperately to employ.

At the bottom of it, I was fragile and weak.

In the pits of despair I looked to love,

but could not fully know love without

loving myself, which by terms of engagement

were cut like beautiful red ribbons from her hair.

Give me death, I’d beg.

Give me peace, I’d scream,

unaware that there was any difference between.

Still she’d try, day in and day out, pushing forward

like an endless train car of hopeful desire.

We’d even escape together too

with nothing but the wind to guide our path

and the rise and fall of the sun to persuade us forward.

Knee deep in the escape of journey we’d prevail,

until of course the final push where and when

like a wrecking ball of fate our souls would wither

in the crest of the sun upon the blind horizon.

Even now, I still turn my sights inward

reminded of her beauty and strength,

channeling it outward where I can walk

head turned high among the many shapeless eyes

who know nothing of my past, care nothing of my future

who’d rather see me not than to judge.

Yet still I turn to the East in longing.

And like all those many times before I know

even if we were to change(our minds) we couldn’t.

Though my count of crows is high

I know that one day it will be but one.

Until then I’ll keep this in my breast pocket

along with my sunglasses, where I reach for them sometimes

when my heart is heavy

where I can’t bear to look away

where I gaze into the distant clearing

and watch grasshopper spring

from golden stalk to golden stalk

blissful in the quiet light.

a lone bird

There’s a lone bird

chirping somewhere unseen

and a cold gentle wind

scratching at my knee,

it’s the crack of dawn

sunrise

another day I’ll see,

and though my throat hurts

my ankle weak

I too sing a little tune

with that lone bird

just to let him know

I hear him.

four walls

At the end of the day

here you are

in a box

with dirty thoughts

tired but unable to sleep

strong but ever so weak

hungry unable to eat

fierce but intolerably meek

crazy isn’t it

how four walls is all it takes

to drive a sane man mad

and a madman sane.

Another word to an unborn son

Some day
out of nowhere
your mood
will shift
from one hundred percent
to zero,

and you will feel sad

and you will feel weak

and you will feel vulnerable,

and that’s good
that’s natural
that’s life,
so get used to it,
it’s a beautiful thing
even when it hurts most.