guillotine of dried tree pulp,
with eloquent insults adorned,
beheading reputations one by one,
in a single sharp-written bite.

when the pen-wielding executioner drops the rope,

even the mighty end in baskets

at the hand of paper blades.

This face, looking old and wrinkled,
was once shining, glowing and beautiful.
This skin, looking rough and crinkled,
was once fine, smooth, healthy and appealing.

These eyes, sunken with poor vision,
were once pretty, charming.and ebullient.
These hands, shaky, lost precision
were once fresh, smooth with well-manicured nails.

The mouth now with no single tooth
was once full of laughter, bright in its glow.
A life once lived with grace and couth
now whispers stories through the quiet night.

i watched a man lie there
between the end of a fire
and the means to another
red. yellow. green.
strangers watching at the stoplight
it doesn't mean anything

motionless and turning blue
last breaths mean nothing -
when you're living on concrete
"look away, cross the street"
"eyes down, windows up"

cardboard signs
winter coats
shopping carts
broken totes

flashing lights
ticking clocks

i watched a man lie there
and i never got to see him get back up.

If she's an ocean I want to be drowned
If she's a guitar  I want to be the string
If she's a dance I want to be the music
If she's a chorus I want to be the melody
If she is the vocals I want to be her lyrics
If she was mine then my heart would be fine