the nothing parts like heavy curtains
or a trapdoor
and i wonder
again
how many times
do i watch the light
at the end of the tunnel
becoming an oncoming train
before i'm smart enough
to get off the tracks
or strong enough
to stay on
until it hits

you should be ashamed
he said
forgetting all the flavors of shame
you already knew
the shame of
being the small ***** child
reeking of cigarettes
crawling with lice
standing in the free lunch line
the shame of
learning to cry silently
so they don't know where it hurts
the shame of
learning to wear dark clothes
so they can't tell where
you were made to bleed
the shame of
being the one
good parents warned you about
the shame of asking for
anything
of anyone
and the shame of
all of that
striving conniving occasionally thriving
effort
still not being enough
to not be ashamed

the smudged patterns
of light and dark
cast by the rubble
and debris of broken buildings
the monotonous patterns
of plowed fields lying fallow
and the structures
abandoned
by those who designed them
now barely touched
by the sun
indifferently and imperceptibly
swallowed
still hold more
strength warmth and promise
then the light that shines
from your eyes

He stood at the corner
of Lost & Nowhere
listening to the gray rain
make gray tires
hiss on gray pavement
while the moments
seconds minutes hours
stacked up like tarnished coins
useless currency
that couldn't be spent
that lost their value
as soon as they were in hand
while the weight
of the strangers gaze
landed like small dusty stones
pressing urging informing
him
that he was not welcome
the he was nothing more
than a simple small tragedy
soon dismissed

one day I stood barefoot
at the edge of the ocean
and watched
as the angry orange red sun
bled itself
on the razor edges
of the dark waves
it’s only companion
and witness
the incessant sibilant hiss
of an ice edged wind
and while the light faded
it
silently
softly
gratefully
sank
into the darkness
and standing in that fading light
knowing the waves
will only get colder
i stepped forward

the early bird
might get the worm
but round here
we know
it's the second mouse
that gets the cheese
those early lessons imprinted
like heavy boots
on wet concrete
layer over layer
until even you
couldn't recognize you
without the marks

Standing barefoot at the edge
of an ice cold sea
i watched as the blood red sun
bled itself
on the sharpest corners
of the coldest waves
and silently, quickly, ashamedly
buried itself in the darkness
of the sea
hoping that maybe
tomorrow
couldn't or wouldn't
or shouldn't
keep happening