This year I'll reduce the drinking,
I will be doing sports and thinking,
I will sleep soundly at night,
And everything will be alright.

Only once,
But then once again,
It's a dance
That will end in vain.

but that handle was made for his hand
hand - handle
handle - hand

the fingers would close
around it to never let go
It had to have flesh around it
at all times
But the blade...
the blade was still naked. He couldn't let
the blade naked
It wasn't fair

"So that's why you stabbed your
mommy then?" the psychiatrist asked him.

"Yes," he said.

"The knife is more important
to you than mommy?"

"The knife listens. Mommy doesn't."

Threadbare hands
dark blue veins protrude
across arms, elbow to finger
swollen skin hides gold wedding band
knuckles poke out, like small stones
rigidity stifles writing

Years a poet
born to scribe
he rocks
in his worn cane chair
his mind travels
shrewd and clever
he uses his husky voice
to tell his tales


Silvered-tongued
roadmap of life
alone,no one heeds
naps away the bleary afternoons
hands crisscrossed