Sugar melts sweetly in the mouths of liars pickled truth is what's spewed
Salt that misery for preservation
We prefer our reality be skewed

Shattered mirrors give better reflections
of what truly hides within
But it don't matter, hide it deep
beneath peaches and cream skin

Choices forced upon the weak
by the strong with candied lies
Hold tight to that shattered reflection
remember it when innocence dies.

Words are now
as if
I never wrote

gather as an aching
lump in my throat.

They don't seek paper
only a river
to pour and mingle
in refrains of a dumb sadness
flow away
sunburned and tidewashed
to where the river is widest
deepest with sighs
of life not enough
in once only
and when just begun
ending broken on the shore.

She considerately held a smile
and strained to conceal the strain
of politeness,
asking correct questions
with an ear of patience
conveying interest
to spare feelings from being hurt.
Though I held a mask
of being fooled by her falseness
we knew we knew
and yet the charade continued.
I admire her for that.

He was too young
to have such an old man's cough,
rasping and wheezing rough
grinding each breath
like a motor clogged with rust,
He lit another cigarette all the same
Chugging along the street:
a slow rolling steam train
soon swallowed and lost
by a tunnel of pedestrians.

When I was six
Daddy held my tiny hand
He promised mine would stay silk
His hands were hard
From love
He walked with me
in the Tennessee mountains
While the Lady Slippers bloomed
Rare orchids
in pink and yellow
They grow wild here
He bent,
looking me in my pale eyes
And he said
"God of the mountains and wild things,
breathe,
make them dance,
for my little lady."
And they did

The plump moon lights up my room.

My mind is now a flat graph
no desire no lust no dream

the cold winds from the rumbling sea
make no dent on me
I look at my palms
and see the cracked floor
gnarled roots of mangrove on the wall
blend seamlessly with all I have
like once I had her in this room
love together
taking wingless flight to the moon
but now I more like sitting here
prospecting no words to rhyme
not angered at the blankness
for in this vacuous moonlight
I wait without a hope of gain
without a despair of loss
unconstrained for time
contoured by fireflies
alone
recounting a new beginning
from the end.