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

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.

Seasons Change

I found you in the dead of winter

We grew as one in the light of spring

Our passion climbed in the heat of summer

And we fell like lovers on autumns leaves

One Philadelphia Night

I took off my clothes

my skin suit

and rattled my bones

clicked my heels

and down the hatch

I went spiraling forth

into a bleak oblivion

where not even the dark

could hide, I

stood staring into nothing like

a Mona Lisa replica

my conscience hung midair

like a wine stained sheet

pinned neatly to dry

and there were no bones about it

I had completely lost my mind

stumbling down West 4th and Pine

crossing line after line, every time

after time just me, myself, and I

delirious in my delusion

picking homeless men off the street

with tears in both our eyes

I’m no different than you my dear friend

neither are you from I, he said

you’re going to be all right, he said

as for me well, I’ve lived a storied life, he ended

with a reassuring glance as I handed him two dimes

for it was all I had

collecting my clothes

skin suit and conscience

brave the winter, he said

spring needs you

the naked and clothed

If you can manipulate life into a form

that suits your needs then wear it.

Or walk naked if you have to.

Either way,

Winter is cold. Summer is warm.

Spring is boundless. And the Fall is inevitable.

In this life

the naked and clothed

are one and the same

some just get lucky

while others wear the blame.