the light on the front porch
that leads me out from the storm,
the crackling in the fireplace
that keeps my cold soul warm,
the food lining the fridge shelves
that fill me when I'm starved,
and the blankets on the bed at night
that keep me bundled, safe from harm

My fingers brushed the remains of Castle Magner,
crumbled stone, overgrown, abandoned, wind blown.
Generation filled me through my feet that trod
on ancestral ground, swelled into my chest,
lived again in each breath.
As I left I turned to see the decaying tower through the trees,
the spirits beckoning, drawing back, whispering,
"Don't leave us,
don't leave."

Cut a fish, split it in half,
turn my time in for a bit of cash,
has my career path
swerved and crashed?
I don't know much about
anything,
I don't own much of
anything,
and my skill set is out dated,
no one wants to pay for poems,
they're over rated.
Put the pen down, grab a blade and,
slice up veggies, your hand, and salmon.
The perk of this job is there is always
more work to do.
If you finish at one store,
there are fifty more to go to.
They'll ship you out,
pay over time,
all they ask is your body, your mind,
and your future.
Can I suture the pieces of my creative
side, fix it up, write a poem that
doesn't ****,
**** it, I'll start off by posting
this ****.

We pull on blue nitrite gloves,
doctors paid in seeds and tea-candle light.
Our medical equipment has black and orange handles,
a serrated blade, a metal loop, a potato peeler.
Our patients wait boldly with no pain killers.
We plunge in our blades and saw
a lopsided circle with a jag,
then tear the whole piece up,
stringy brains follow.
This operation has no set procedure,
just simple pleasure,
a lost tradition
now remembered.

Her chest rose and fell as she slept,
the black sheets draped over her hips,
her arms folded over her face,
taking a nap in outer space.
I laid next to her,
awake and breathless.
The cat at our feet seemed unable
to grasp the importance of the moment.
Instead she spread her paws, yawned.
For the cat and my love
this is just a lazy evening, another nap,
for me
it is everything.

8 months later and we're  in the middle of October.
Trees shed leaves,
Halloween can be heard cackling a few weeks off.
Soon, you and I will be a young Leia and Han,
brought together across galaxies
to fall in love, to combat the reality
of a silent, frigid, deep space.
Is it too hasty to say 8 months will turn into 8 light years?
That your gravity will always pull me closer to your core?
That each month, week, day
has me wanting more?
I think not.
I think ours is intergalactic,
transdimensional, spanning space and time.
That in all other off shoots of our reality,
I end up as yours,
and you and up as mine.

Outside the bedroom window
a buzz saw screeches its grating song.
Leaf blowers roar out in an attempt
to accompany the shrill melody.
Minutes into the disharmonious duet
a rumbling bang joins in, trash cans
dancing out, filled with bottles
and pizza boxes.
I want to yell
Quiet! Let me be! Let me sleep!
but the world is awake,
singing its rattle and clang,
believing itself beautiful.
And maybe it is,
maybe it is,
but I am far too tired to listen.