Undone

In the wee hours
of the night
it comes together
or undone
perhaps when
you realize
there’s no place
left to run
Yesterday seems
a long time ago
tomorrow is just
a vague rumor
grown accustomed
to the heartache
like living with
a benign tumor
the moon is wearing
her resting bitch face
from her we’ll get
no sympathy
still we look up
and offer simple prayers
that somehow
she’ll set us free
what you thought
was your real struggle
is in fact your only fun
so you chuckle
and you whisper,
“come on, morning sun”

Smudge

A gray smudge of a cloud
like someone erasing a place
in the sky passes in front
of a moon so full it might burst
but it’s a small cloud…
and soon the pale light returns
bringing memories of the future
dreams of the past
and a deep joyful breath
of the present

Just Barely

A silhouette in the misty shadows
calls to someone I used to be
who I am now intervened
self stepped on selfless’s neck
the heartless bastard
but going back or undoing
invalidates too much
and dodging one slippery slope
is not victory, just barely
a respite.
And shadows we used to hide in
potentially hold menace
so what has been lost or gained

Break

When weariness comes rolling in
like fog off of the ocean
being lost sounds as good as being found
When the half-tone slide signifies the end
and you don’t think you can play it again
even though you’re not quite happy with the sound
When your head is throbbing
from your assault on the wall
but the wall doesn’t seem bothered at all
you might question the path that you chose
When your eyes will not engage
the words there on the page
but still won’t be persuaded to close
You may find rest in the darkness
everybody needs a break
it doesn’t mean you’ve surrendered
it’s just one way to ease the heartache
When time seems never ending
and you grow tired of pretending
try remembering what you’re looking for
When you wake up in the morning
don’t offer any warning
just go out and get a little more

Short Parade

The tipsy gypsy
dances in the street
people throw money
at her feet
that’s not why she’s there
she lets it lay
dancing away toward
another day

the chrome gnome follows
picking it up
to buy her bread
and wine in a cup
he wants to be close
to a heart so free
and feel the music
only she sees

it’s a short parade
with no destination
constantly spreading
stardust pollen
they don’t stick around
to see their creation
the flowers pop up
where the coins
have fallen

If you’re given the fire
which does not consume
you’ll be tempted to hide it
alone in your room
rather go to the street
in the cool night air
the gnome and the gypsy
will meet you there

Loophole

The night kept its promise
long ago, my part of
the bargain was to
not ask for more. But
a young man’s understanding
of “ever again” is woefully
insufficient, so I gaze
at her returning,
longing for something,
wishing for a loophole.

One of Those Evenings

One of those evenings
when the sun and moon
occupy opposite ends of the sky.
By morning, they’ll have
traded places and
you’ll have witnessed traces
of the monthly madness
of howlers and haints
and unusual behavior
from sinners and saints

These spirits will likely
be tempting you to
do things you do not
usually do
but it’s only for a night or two
take off that mask,
be the real you
or put one on and
be someone else

in the long run
it’s about the same
in the forest you will
see the flames leap high
in a clearing where
the furious dance unfolds
beckoning or banishing
the usual ghosts
who must be told
the secrets they
already know