A car stops on the freeway.
A gloomy sky weeps
over this one, rotten day.
The man inside sleeps.

He dreams of honey scented
lotion on soft skin,
tobacco, rich and minted,
and a youthful spin.

Traffic, a blur around him,
unending burden,
a collision, then a hymn-
Radio sermon.

And the last thought that lingers
is, “please forgive me”.
There is blood on those fingers.
And more on his knee.

Exhaust plumes, shattering smog.
Our man pays a price.
No soul hoisted from the fog-
pointless sacrifice.

Crowds come to witness the wreck,
and to kiss their luck.
Like pigeons, they hop and peck-
squawking, heartless ruck.

Dollar Store goods strewn about,
diapers included,
the road runs red from a spout,
highway occluded.

Behind the line they’re whining,
“Will I be on time?”
Dead ahead, simply pining
for his wasted prime.




He’s killed his child, who’s survived
to view his remains,
mangled, hopeless, and deprived,
his blood in her veins.

"Jewel"


Watched it all through the lenses  

of a boy without defenses.            

That’s when the world was ugly,

and I hadn’t developed senses.



Crippled imagination,

built up wisdom with cunctation,

my peers all mocking smugly.

Assent, their single fixation.



I survived adolescence.

Thoughts, a cultural excrescence.

Could everything be broken?

Just a jest of convalescence.



I knew I’d end up finding

how to loosen up the binding.

And when the words were spoken,

swift, the future went unwinding.



“I do.” She said. And I too.

We wed and were reborn anew.

But where would we set our sights

but a happiness overdue?



The life we’d made extended,

though after some life had ended.

She swims through days, sleeps through nights.

Loved as I’d always intended.  



A mystery, pain, torment.

And virtue, we misrepresent.

Fire is hot, and ice is cold.

And naught I can do to prevent.



But love is warm. Courage, cool.

So allow these to be your fuel.

I’ll teach her then, to be bold,

shine in the sun like a jewel.

Although it pains me to know it,
     i’m no poet.  
The words I love-come to me lucid as a-
Dream
An ineffable messenger
not angry, or
     perhaps so, in the moments when I fail me.
     But!
This prognosticator led me--
     believe or don’t
to believe in and trust in the mingling of
Souls.