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.

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A view from 3614 W. Magnolia Blvd.

While someone’s tightening the belt

strapped firmly around the throat

and another’s sporting her crown of thorns

trailing hoots and hollers towards hell

there’s a man dressed casual

waiting for the bus, and it’s cold

and he’s dancing with himself

and he’s smiling, sadly so am I.

What I couldn’t say in person.

I can say I failed

Or

I can say it worked out

just as it was supposed to

And

her and I can move forward

knowing our paths weren’t meant to cross

Again

the past is all we had in common

and well, the past must be laid to rest.

Sleep well my friend

until then

I wish I hadn’t been so mean

But

I wish you only the best,

even though I’m sure that’s hard to believe.

rhythm of words

constantly tinkering

toying in turn

churning and yearning

and combing inward

what does it mean

I haven’t the urge

just sort of liked

this rhythm of words

the war unseen

Even in times of peace

the war unseen

rages on inside

someone, somewhere

like a match

full of absolute sulfur

just a spark

heard yet never seen

felt like a ghost

in the corner of the eye

ready to strike

and oh how it does,

oh how it haunts.

poetry is spam

A large portion of

poetry is spam.

But I don’t eat that stuff,

at least not until I get to see Hawaii

then who knows?

I hear, fried with an egg, it’s good.

When in Rome, you know;

when in Rome.