Infantile, juvenile, call it what you will
For now I shall believe that my life's been one big spill
and for notches in Your belt, or notches on Your bedpost
I ran along the snowy banks vying for lost hope
My bare feet turned to ice blocks and for me that's my burden
I did it only to inform the other birds that You'll lure in
To forewarn them of the gentle hands that mend broken wings
because in the beginning all is heard while angels sing
and maybe by the end I’ll harbor brand new feathers
but the fingerprints upon them are now far too much to weather
Sat atop an emerald pedestal in a cage spun of gold
A window has become all that's left of old
So fair warning to all whose veins are weak:
don't give away your hopes to just anyone that will let you speak
For what it's worth my wing does seem improved
Although the brokenness was my only form of proof

DDD
*(3/14/2013)

Instead of a light read
This is more of a late read
A wipe the slate read

New needs and different greeds
We're meant to meet when leaves sheath
I think about the time speed
or time spent amongst wasting
It's trash green, slime I bleed
Blood spilt while red lights gleam
High beams and tear streams

The skull seam
A conscious stream
of unconscious scenes
A habitual response to television screens
Thought patterns of your name seem
un-welcomed sit-ins for the brain team

It's a game spent creating
a world for the changing
A gut for the taking
and a heart for the breaking
I'd **** for a day dream
****** for a breath taking
Leave town for a quiet waking
that'd fulfill the craving

for the warmth of your body on my back claiming
to know something without wasting
love something without hasting
and trust something without caving

Inject into my blood stream
the heroine of your daily raining

DDD
*(11/5/2013)

He drenched himself in Ronsonol
lighter fluid, the irrepressible sting of it
stained my nasal glands
Flick, flick, flick---it started with the
puddle that filled the spaces beside
his body and it all happened so
rapidly; by the time I could smell the
pungent odor of his sneakers melting, his
jean-covered kneecaps were already ablaze
Something in his body turned the flames
blue-and-so licking him like an ocean's
stay in Hell had leaked through a crack in the pavement

Skin boiled now, blood and epidermis colliding
morphing into globules-bursting and bubbling volcanic masses-God, it's all
so much more horrific than those gore movies I used to
swear I understood -- the face of a male whom I had just seen
now blending into blacks, blues, oranges, and gooey-oozing blobs of tarred scarlet
Blackened muscle slobbering from bone, loose orange furls of hair that existed
mere minutes before were turned into particles of matter sparking
from the gluttonous fire devouring the whole of a human

I wondered what his last thoughts were, I wondered if the inferno
tickled his brain bits as it prowled about the vessel,
I wondered if the flame latched sizzling silk fingers around his
soul -and the colors such an act would produce-

If one is consumed
by all his hate
does it burn up the soul, too?

DDD
*(2/26/2013)

10
Out of your bones shall grow a humble garden
Glistening in that delicate pale light that bleeds past the night
Forever to greet the morning

DDD
*(3/20/2013)