.

Spun in a windstorm of caustic insisting
Plastered like mud on the walls of Pompeii
Frescos of joy before charcoal was misting
Writing in ash, catastrophic display

Poetic spittle once cast to the broken
Scribbled in diction now smeared in the rain
So many follow yet nothing is spoken
Below these skies with the cherry red stain

There in the distance a magpie is flying
Scavenging wings while you shout from the ground
Above a truth midst the unending lying
Circling nightmares of places you’re bound

Can it be art if it’s not as remembered
Past of the days when you ****** in the snow
Spelling your name as your mother was watching
Turning in shame as if she didn’t know

Damning Picasso for changing direction
How can a nose sit so far from the face
*******’s spilled paint way beyond your detection
Charging a gallery, demanding your space

Photo laced albums of cellophane pages
Developed by hand in a room with no light
Look at these kids and their digital stages
Feigning creative, it just isn’t right

Does this explain every tactical action
While you count blocks as if streets don’t exist
Pulling a woodpecker’s tail to get traction
Hiding the reason you just can’t resist

You say that art can be all that we’re thinking
Then in the same breath you say it’s not true
Often we wonder if you have been drinking
Make up your mind, it’s the least you can do

You are all artists, yes you who are reading
Writing your words that you put on display
Spilling your heart while emotions are bleeding
It breaks my heart when I hear someone say

It can’t be art, all those losers are dreaming
Seeing and clicking and sending and such
Downloaded images, videos streaming
When the truth is, you are just out of touch

:

*Though sunny the days of cloudless expanse
in fields lowly rutted with fear
Down footprints of mud in a circular dance,
a garden now beckons my dear

A wood picket fence and a hedge overgrown
beyond an old gate bearing rust
That cringes and creaks near the wicked seeds sown
about northern winds once were ******

Vines cling an arbor in strangling grip,
creeping like worms neath your feet
Proud of their thorns and the flesh they do rip,
souring fruits ever sweet

Step into this realm where petals now bleed
with faces apart from the norm
On barbed wire stems of a nevermore need,
now cast of an unending storm

Awaits there child with a part in her hair
and roots tethered deep to the ground
A bouquet of pain offered up, if you dare,
in silence she speaks without sound

Come follow this path of a nightmarish dream,
where nothing that lives ever dies
But hold tight your tongue for she hates when you scream,
the girl with the blackberry eyes

.

Driving by,
lost on a side street
directly in the middle
of where I never wanted to be

Clamoring at the expectations
strewn along the curb
between the broken dishwasher
and empty beer cans

Where neighborhood gnomes
painted gaily colors
wave as if they know me,
but I ignore them – sort of

There is one though
with a hollow bookish smile
that seems familiar
or is it the tulips

A wooden staircase,
worn planks in a grey stain
lead to an entrance where an ornate
metal light fixture sways in the breeze

Your porch used to look like that
but this door is standing open
behind a welcome mat with a clover,
wish I hadn’t lost that rabbit’s foot

Maybe I am lucky after all,
just found a spot with ten minutes
remaining on the meter, forget it,
it took me fifteen minutes to park

The empty passenger seat
still holds your form,
at least I can see it -
Corinthian leather never forgets

A speed bump at 40 mph
rattles me back behind the wheel
when I see the bank clock flashes 5:00 pm,
still offering a free toaster

And that’s it, another Sunday afternoon
wasted as much as I am,
spinning my wheels
with just enough gas to get back home,

alone

.

The last petal fell,
shivering on winter's cold ground
and looking up at the now barren stem
asked, " Why did you let me go,
I was the one that stuck with you
when all of the others left,
leaving you alone to face
the coming frigid season?

The empty stem, leafless,
void of its once lustrous color,
waving in the chilly winds answered,
"Don't worry, come spring I will
have many new wonderful petals
adorning me, making me
beautiful once again."

"I know, but none of them
will be me," replied the last petal
as it died.

.

Not knowing
chokes the imagination,
draining all common sense
Thoughts spin desperately
as vacuous emotions
paralyze actions,
restricting sensibility

Lethargic expressions
wander the mind
searching for answers
While minutes become
hours that never end
on days you wish
you didn’t exist

Pathways once trod
now retraced, examined
of every “what if”
step by agonizing step,
seeking breadcrumbs
leading back to a beginning
long before now

Darkness plays on sunny days,
every shadow startles
in breaths not taken
for fear that this is it,
falling on your knees,
pleading to the sky,
tell me