Give Until Gone

Just take my hand

it can be early in the morning,
when the bathwater sky leaks
gray droplets of drainage true,
I would for you, in every way
you could need, I would bleed
the darkest sorrow from every
pore on my person to remove
the pressure, relieve the weight

it can be late in the evening,
when black licorice ice peels
its sticky body and drips home,
I would for you, in every day
you breathed, I would seethe
the farthest morrow from every
sore on my person to remove
the anger, relive those days

it can be late in the afternoon,
when the lazy sun bows down
and dips beneath the crest arch,
I would for you, in every May
you see, I would breathe in
the starkest yarrow with my
boar’s heart to see you smile,
forget, reset, love and remake

Just take my hand

LOST CAT!!!

Female, silver-

gray, long-

haired tabby.

Declawed front

paws only.

Call or text;

leave message

if no answer.

Banjanxed

Then it comes, the eventual

defeat, a transient suit

clinging to the body like

water, like a dreg in a

stall, reticent performance,

recalculated and dense,

the moment enraptures

delight, a Bedouin carousing

the oasis, stocking and

stockpiling, until the light

frowns through the dawn,

a sad rain and testimony

of things better yet, to come

in time, to come in life, to

come with greatness, to

come with mastery, to come

from blood, to blood, away

from blood, a sailing fisher

swirling in the toilet bowl,

collapsing, everlasting, and

finally dry and writhing, each

clock tick madness on the soul,

each pang a reminder to die,

and then it appears again in

bleak, dead robes, a moment

to ponder, reality transmission,

so the road clears, and skies

light blue, the most amazing

clouds, and the crack snaps

you back in, time to sing again,

time to live, riff, bleed, ripen,

forget, recall, sleep transient,

faster, then slower, then love

again, and then to finally forgive

Powder Keg

this is a love song,
this is not a love song,
because you’ll never read it;
I ignored your finger test,
tipping points too real,
sans emotion,
I hate
using “sans,”
I hate that I use it with you;
manic at night, hot dickhead
thoughts, shame for feeling
alone, no trust, you’re the liar,
you’re the mistrial, the reason
we
drink,
then in January, static, snow, ice,
maybe, I pretend it isn’t new,
it isn’t,
because it always fucking is,
I did the math,
I’m bad at math,
and I never speak when
I’m alone, sneering in the
mirror, transient, sinister
teeth, gap on the right, succinct
and stifled madness, trace
the line, satisfy the spirits,
I remember the vinegar,
spraying his eyes, you
never
stopped me, the chase on,
a cat sicking a dog, holding a
bottle, fucking dunce, both of us,
it just doesn’t add up,
close the trunk and whisper
to me, “the vacuum isn’t
that loud, baby,”
like how I feel about missing
you,
don’t like how I feel about missing the
person I was,
but the spider sure is fucking
dead,
he made sure of it, but now
he’s fucking dead,
and I’m sure of it

Constant Camaraderie

A year ago was the beginning of the end for a dear friend. I wrote this the year before he was gone just shortly after we moved from the country into the city. It’s more emotional than it is technical.

I imagine him in a field, a humid day
in the backyard, his legs like horses
traveling across open grassland,
angles to get back to us, as we stand
in tandem, holding out our arms, his
mind a trap of love and safety, staunch
in our hearts, his life full of dutiful
behavior and selfless musings, now
at my feet, he snores and dreams, his
legs twitch and kick, his bounty just
over the hill, his life a posit of dog,
he’ll never see those places again,
his life is now a city dog, in a series
of boxes, yards of acres are now
just dreams he’ll relive again and
again, as a he sleeps and snores,
I hope his last days are sopped
up with those times; I’ll not forget

Published in an Anthology

Hello,

I was recently published in a poetry anthology featuring Ohio Poets.

It can be found here on their website:

https://www.zpublishinghouse.com/?rfsn=2157846.fb9fa2

or here on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1087306078

The Smugglers

The Smugglers,
no haste in heart,
short retreat repents,
a natural night rains slurry,
quadrupeds habitat,
dove crowding handrail,

magical supine,
trapped in Mongolia,
the safety of cloth,
wooden lattices,
verily we watch us,

avail the embodiment,
the frost enters soon,
our taken hearts beat,
so I carve it in wood,
the night long and drawn,

each Donna brought more,
we laughed at the old,
chewing eggs ridiculous,
five dollars is enough,
hand-in-hand we love,

trod the valley’s girth,
beyond great skies,
greatness within hours,
unnatural continents below,
staring at our faces,
like thousands before,

this recharge: a song,
a moment in time’s drum,
only one sight smiles,
drunk on you always,
safari in Ohio’s azure,

this beaten moment’s muse,
magical back-masking,
a poet sinking into crime,
the ringleader soft,
recapture butterflies,

in periphery we sink,
the coated lens green,
fortune still on the coast,
bastards we laugh as one,
dreaming of each moment,

yes to the smells that day,
madness gripping our twin,
sorrow for caged lives,
while horizons await,
yet we smile loud,

yet we fight death’s light,
yes we walk the path,
the coolness on our heads,
the warmth at our feet,
the love swept up between,
the smugglers refrain