Penance Waged
Damned be truth and worst be time,
Unfeigned prayers of a naked kind,
Unbosomed shame, as penance made,
Spleen and mourning of a traceless face.
Please Let Me Stand
He’s afraid of me
What can I possibly
Say to give him peace?
I can see it in his face
And three things just
Crossed his mind
And two of them have
To do with me not leaving
Here breathing
A Moment In The Mind Of A Poet
And it seems at times that I grab at
Myself like a speeding hand
Protruding through the window
Of an old sedan,
With no delusion of ever actually
Catching hold of those floating
Dandelion Seeds,
That until me,
Were aimlessly falling in no hurry
Across the breeze,
Legions strewn alongside fence lines—
Yet, not a single one settling
In my hand.
Payback
If I could fly, even once,
after searching the heavens,
I would drift,
alone—
in that layer between
God and everyone else—
to where naked, cyanic skies
give in to pearly slate,
up as high as it takes,