Muddy Water

beach-boat-daylight-790195I showed her under my skin

for syncopation’s sake.

such finesse

Again, making a shrine

Of the side lines

with her legs crossed high

She isn’t Glowing night-crawler white

she’s a darker

human shade

 

How strange to admire

Resiliency

As the hand

Of the oppressor

And though. I act like they’re

sharpening their blade

With Caucasian names

 

My trail paved with

My steps in mind

No serendipity

To an enamel design

 

If I stand upon a peak

does my height

imply

greatness?

 

we’ve crudely stapled

our misplaced ends

and with closed eye comparisons

we claim

a superior being

Reprieve in Memorandum

person holding black tube
Photo by PhotoMIX Ltd. on Pexels.com

Diabetes and seeking reprieve has become a way of life. The steady progress in consumption;complication, slowed down by a well wrung routine. Returning to your needles, knowing with each prick, you could lose another friend. Waiting for the fix, waiting on the news of the next death.

I miss you Tyler, Stacia, Jeff, Heather.

We’ll get out of the rain someday.

Don’t quit your day job

And they feed, from apple
cores and hangnails.

Don’t quit your day job
They reek, oozing around opaque corners
Carbon monoxide insidious,
Saturates all,

And maybe the holy don ‘t
Laugh much.
The joy left unharmed by repetition
is in the cackle, savoring
the regret in their noxious piety.

Don’t quit your day job
or stride beyond your warbling Suicide
Praying on the epiphany
– Death

Damn, quit my day job

Context ~ #Poem — Exclusive Inflictions

Clouds of the sky Seem to wash over me Like the waves of the sea There’s more than meets the eye It’s about perspective We each hold onto our own A set of beliefs on what’s known Other possibilities & opinions rejected Some naive, others easily deceived Turned around and up side down We rise […]

via Context ~ #Poem — Exclusive Inflictions

I love the way Kelly’s poem focuses on broadening one’s horizons and the pitfalls of harboring a false sense of certainty. I’m also a fan of the internal rhyme,the dance to the wordplay is still retained, but it’s very accessible. That’s not an easy thing to do.
Thank you Kelly!

Postmortem, Post modern

cemetery-1341979_960_720

I was once buried

in the cemetery at the top of the hill

but erosion has wiped away fallen comrades,

and through the general disintegration of time

Neither I, nor my headstone is worthy

of my Terra sanctuary.

They gathered around my grave

a site of Carnival, the beers passed around the tombstone.

Old friends pay their respect by day,

and the teens know how to tango

in the early morning

dancing from headstone to headstone

sunrise spotlight on macabre stage.

Now even the vandals don’t come around anymore.

The house cat, bronze iris and black pawed,

traces it’s way around my burying ground

The senorita, margarita in painted face,

hold my holiest of days

and the children tire of my wandering fingers

who knew the body

would be the vehicle

ensnared and tangled

caught in eternal flame

to imprison their manifestation

to imprison the soul.

Though I was never baptized I have known the ceilings of heaven

though I’ve committed no great sin

I know the delusions of hell

They don’t tell you that it’s in the air

just under our noses

where we couldn’t possibly have seen it

 we couldn’t have guessed

The man in the Ghost.

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The leaves billowed from the heavens, a roasted brown or Sunkist yellow. Mixed into the mess is the liter of the ages; a pattern, a rhythm, a song of color against dismal grey concrete. I pass the man with the tenderized face, jeans with holes and a twisted limp. But he smiles, teeth like termites. And though he smiles, later he won’t. And though he greets me with a kind face now, later he won’t. We know this, we know the binary of the demons and the angels. It remains unacknowledged, but the distance is respected.