No Title Will Suffice . . .

He is
fading away
with all the
grace
that one could
hope to coax
from one
simple dog.
His days
of play
have flown
away
and the ghost
in his shell
wanders the spaces,
stumbling into
corners,
daring not
to turn
left or right,
his sight
having betrayed
him
and anyway
it feels
safe there
I suppose,
enclosed,
a cocoon
carved from
a large room.
What am I
to do?
He seems to
be through
though I imagine
I see a puppy
in his face,
me, in this
horrid place
of deciding
his fate –
or do I
wait, not knowing
what great pain
there may be
or what tragedy
may strike
like a thief
in the night?
Fourteen years
he has given
his all,
who am I
to forestall his
peaceful passage
and then again,
who am I
to say
he won’t last?
The end comes,
nowhere to run,
I must face
that day
with him,
I cannot
shun
this debt
of love,
even to the
breaking
of
my
heart

The Beginning of the End – Again

Deconstructing the
Dickens Village,
it’s all silly
after the porridge
and the 25th,
L.L.Cool J
cranked up loud,
“Mama said
knock you out,”
and Frank and
Bing have left
the house,
nothing’s stirring,
not even a
mouse – normal
is calling
and I’m
reclaiming
the couch

Distillate

God is
hope,
nothing more,
pile all the
scriptures
on the floor,
absorb them
’till your brain
is sore,
the gift
remains
the same
regardless
the name
you claim
is true.
What lifts
me and you
is hope.
Hope
that the
pain will
pass,
hope
that the
bad
won’t last,
hope
that a
“bigger”
has our
back when
lack
looms
large
and loss
attacks.
Hope,
Hope . . .

Hope

Course Correction

The
immensity
of the the thing,
a profound
responsibility,
so much so
there comes a
propensity
to let it go,
a reflexive response to the
intensity
of the fear.
What would happen
if you grabbed hold
to steer?
Once grasped
you would become
ineffably
responsible for it all;
where you are,
where you’re going,
to what you set your hand
and what you’d rather be doing.
The
immensity
of the
responsibility
of choice.
Easier to blame,
to leave things the same,
to not bear the weight
for the result of the game.
There’s always next year,
right?
Maybe . . .
or it could end tonight.
Isn’t it time
to grab that wondrous mind,
to be the one choosing
your life’s design?
I think,
perhaps,
just maybe,
it IS.

Encounter

I saw
all
the galaxies
swirling as dust
in an
elephant’s eye,
or perhaps he
spied
them in me,
my own
reflection
dazzling his
perception
for a
breathtakingly
brief
moment –
an aberration
no doubt
that passed
without
comment.
The elephants
know, of course,
but have agreed
not to speak
of such
things,
for there are
none that
believe
save the moon
and her owls,
the hawks,
and the most
ancient of trees

Thief

The vanity
of the moon
is unbecoming,
luster stolen
from the sun,
her porcelain glow
not her own,
libidinous trickery
made to look
chaste
that she may
bask in the
unabashed smolder
of young lovers
casting smitten
glances skyward
from sea kissed
beaches

Truth

Today I could not
breathe
though the air
was plentiful
and free, all
because of this
thing,
PTSD,
few understand
the agony –
defying logic
I remain alive,
striving,
believing,
praying
that tomorrow
is a better
day

Divine Mystery

Oh the
great
weight
of our sin,
poor thin souls
bent
under the rules
we broke,
rules from
long dead
white men
who swore they knew God
better than me
and you
and what we
should and shouldn’t
do
while they watched
the money
and walked
oh
so
piously
and thousands
of years
along
we crawl
and cry
for redemption
from the
dreadful end
sworn by those
old
white
men
in our
spare
hours
between
loud
protestations
toward
subjection
and
oppression

Twinkle, Twinkle

Being born
is a
death sentence,
the Reaper
sniffs out
our first
fog
of
breath,
tracking us,
carrying
our death
close to his
chest,
always
mystified
by our
apparent
surprise
when he
arrives
while the
stars
simply
smile,
they’ve been
around
awhile,
watching
suns
expire

Life

I fabricated
a true story,
one act of
uncertain
duration
and made
the decision
to play it out,
me, both
protagonist
and
antagonist
of a
tragicomedy,
thus far, anyway
but me,
being a
crude thespian
who missed
acting class
am a bit
half assed,
not at all
credible
in the role
of myself,
there’ll be
no Oscar
on my shelf
for this
unscripted
wandering
in and out
through
empty
rooms