Why Should I

Love in you your crumbs,
the
humor,

the drip of tears from your
moist eyes.

The retro lip with which you
Spew your vision amongst
      pearls.

The climb to you began
early in the morning,

wrapped around and
  Called me

out loud.

You were Jesus
to my
mutiny.  A Promise to
carry me on wings.

There is no ******* Garden.
The reference
only works on those who
are too drunk

to stand up.

In your day I partied
beneath the walls

of Gethsamane.

I wore leaves and
saw

your name

Victorious.


Caroline Shank
10.21.23

The trees shadow and
Un bark, our initials flaunted.

The yellow hue is baked
And naked are the letters.

Undone are alphabets of
stories. Tomorrow doesnt
exist. The flaf is torn and
washed.

Spelling is wasted on the
young.

Today sheds minutes on your own words
grave, dappled letters
ride down the sidewalk
and I am forever mottled.


You took away


your name
, written with the wind

and songs


unsung.


Caroline Shank
10.20.2023

It is the ragged ends of tonight
that my pen hovers over lhe
linen pre drawn the colored
lines. Oh tout le monde.

The heavy scent of patchouli
after all the years….
Folded bell bottoms in
flowers splash and i

bend at the waist.
******* fall cold touch
the air that I breathe
swept my wait against

You as the scramble

began.


Caroline Shank
10.18.2023

Older women look around,
say wait a minute,
We are required to have tea.

Older women
wear watermarks
where kisses
first were placed along with
lilacs.  

Flowers are the truth.
Older women whisper
in petals. The scent
rubs into the soft
underbelly of
years gone deaf into

yesterdays.


Caroline Shank
10.14.2023

To be acutely that is, to be, alone
is a topic phenomenologists
ravish.

The dialectical imperative at
least requires two souls
reaching for the strands, like
light waves, the flash food
of the Universe.

Tomorrow I will meet the son
of Master Albert and the laps
of the twirling firmament will
strike dumb the song of
gods.

Mea Culpa Mea Culpa,

Tomorrow you can drain
the swamp behind The
8th street oak and the
copulating frogs will scamper
away, two by two

I digress   To be me is
always to be

alone


Kyrie eliason


Caroline Shank
10.11.23

I did not do that. The blotch
is the size of the sun
Methods of communication.
Failed mornings.

You saw the results of my
conversation before I did
Information quarreled with
meanings.. What should
be is not a reason to be.

Again the day begins with
prayer.  The end of prayer
cannot be its beginning.
The early morning empty

verses die of loneliness.
I die of repetition, of
stomach crunching fear.

I cannot find the night
in the car, the ******
shorts, your silence
drills me a lobotomy.

All this be the ends
of days and thought
moves slowly
backwards.

Caroline Shank
10.9.2023

Time stayed behind and
the fire lit evenings warmed
the cold room in which my
heart tattooed to you. Your

touch was never so warm
as the early days of parks
and coffee shops.  The ends
of Summers and we raked our
leaves, painted walls and
there was never enough

coffee.

I am touch without your
feeling without

your warmth.

hollow without

your

voice that said

me to

you.


Caroline Shank
10.5.2023