in that junction between summer green
and autumnal auburn skins
peaches dropped
their soft, burnt chins melting into ground
bearing teeth within like
quick-basted skulls reopened
or pages unread

the sugar’s been wasted,
a sin unexpected in spring
when first blossoms burst ...

then
like giddy children,
we would have us gathered ‘round early,
setting ladders, laughing to pluck ecstasy
and gods we might have been
or butterflies

not knelt so, the weight from this diet
of nameless hard words we’ve breathed,
boundaries woven into our clothes
worn to spite ourselves,
graceless beggars defeated

but restless, this:
echoes, now, of childhood and lovers,
friends who came and went as rain
another cold winter soon again,
the peaches we never picked

Lounge on Willow bough,
golden savannah below,
and savannah in her hair,
feet swinging in air.
fractioned light from above,
sky seeps 'tween leafy green,
as the eyes of my love,
no 'squito can be seen,
from dragon fly hard at flap,
beautiful wings,
as long lashes of her bat,

I rest on rough bark,
and she rests on my heart,
in the mansion they dine,
but  no where else I want to be,
then on a lover's recline in the Willow Tree.

he took my last quarter and dime,
pocket lint, the missing *****
of something I’d meant to reassemble
if I’d remembered or had time

then wandered off
rubbing shoulders with the sidewalk preacher
searching for signs of end times in rainstorms
or faint rumbles of passing traffic,
holding high his Good News
in a half-folded forecast for tomorrow;

this exodus -
across a patch of crabgrass
following a diagonal path of earth foot-worn
into a thin gray line defining the shortest distance
from his concrete corner to the door of the liquor store
justified a sacrifice of hours, the cold lies told:

lost wallet,
old mother,
car just out of gas

practiced to passersby or filling station patrons,
their rumpled tithes
reborn into an afternoon sermon
wrapped tight in brown paper
still warm with silent echoes of amen

Between full moons
And new moons he lived
Half crazy, or so he said,
Putting that down as his
Excuse for his raving moods
Of pinch and punch whatever
Time of the month, but you

Thought it best to wait and see
If it would all go away or if he’d
Grow out of it like an old sweater
Or maybe have some religious
Conversion and be a better person,
But he never did, and the cruising
For a bruising, as he said to you,

Continued, the moods changing,
Darkening, the rows, the words,
The up you signs, the pulling down
Of blinds before the beatings began,
(That sort of man), the neighbours
Saying, yes, he’s a good steady type,
Wouldn’t hurt a fly, smiles and says
Hello, how do you do, and goodbye.

Between summer sun to winter death,
You waited, bided your time, watched,
Felt, ached, then one winter morning,
Out of the blue, he stopped hitting you,
You hit him instead and now he’s silent,
Good to be around, because he’s dead.

Some start with ****, (I am reflecting now)
or nic on the breath,
but it ends in cadaverine,
all my heroes have been lost to me.

And as decomposition begins( I am angry now)
they look happy,
cuz a skull always grins,
a slow way to die,
as if doused with caustic lye,
the spiritual man is dead,
black vacuity in their eyes.

Now their souls will sin( I am staying away now)
their tongues will boast,
they mock the heavens,
but tempt the crows,
their minds are seared,
their heart debased,
any memory of my friends is all erased. (attending a funeral now)

A minute amount of madness
A smidgen of disregard
Every act a flagarant mirror
Of the surrounding Bizaar