Once the fee fie fo fum *******
Stopped, he was small,
Lying still,
Eyes and lips glued,
Orifices finally stuffed.
What would a priest do?
So, I stretched my hand,
Ritualistic-like,
As a benediction of charity,
An attempt.
I should've worn a soutane,
Perhaps used a kneeler,
But suplication ended.

That night, I looked
Beyond the moon
To starry clusters of ka-boom,
But nothing.
That sealed it.
Death bed conversions
Don't move me;
Death bed confessions do.
Ah, still nothing.
Forgiveness has
A statute of limitations.

Not listening!
Any jack-***
Can carry
Heavy burdens
Without braying.

Silken Tongue Poets eschew the Pedantic
Masters of Imagination Create Fantastic
Poets of Masterly Craft and Imagery
Like Don Bouchard, Joe Cole and Me
Wolf spirit aka quinfinn also added in
These poets and More, will Proclaim
That Mastery of Imagination Can Reign
Tales will be told, of times of Old
Poets will take you to Magical Places
Among the treasures you will find Gold
Poetesses will spin tales of Love and Woe
And you might even meet a UFO
Poets will Stumble From Irish Pubs
For Deeds of Valantry Knights be Dubbed
Or Stars May Fall from the Universe
The Craft and Mastery will be diverse
So this is your invitation to our World of Creation
By Artisans of the Craft and the Masters of Imagination,

A  Collection for the Masters of Imagination,
The True Craftsmen of the Arts.
Come see where Imagination Shines...Shamus

What load has us braying?
We toil. Work for meals,
Clothes and housing,
Cars and holidays.
The celebrations of our lives
In our American
Middle-class struggle.

Is it the price of gas,
Steak or beer.
My lawn could use
More watering.
The streets are clean,
And the plow just
Filled in my drive.
The copper-plated coffin
Had me cry;
The kids left for school
Without saying good-bye.
And it took way too long
For the shower to heat up.
No?
Perhaps we should clam-up.
Count our blessings,
Add them up.
Then subtract Iraq.

The feeling is lead.
Stubborn,
It sits in my chest.
I remind myself
Not to dare name it.
I remind myself:
If you name it,
It becomes real.
Suddenly, people will see it.
Label you for it.
It will define you.

I ignore it
When I can.
Suppressing him
As best as possible.
Still, he manages to
Shrink me.
******* me.

He strains my knees.
Curves my back.
Hangs below my eyes.
I plead with him.
Beg him.
Try to compromise.
But this thing is
Deaf,
Dumb,
Simple—
He is oblivious.

He lacks understanding.
Incessantly, he fails
To recognize
My pain;
Perpetual discomfort.
Unaware, he forces me;
Knees ******,
Crawling to my vices.

Frequently
I drown him.
Hold his head low.
Well at the bottom of the
***** reservoir
That accumulates
Each night in my gut—
I drink one
After the next.
My hand never
Leaves the glass;
If I can help it,
The glass never
Leave my lips.
Until finally my world—
Our world
Falls below the, thick, black,
***** soaked veil.


Often
I choke him;
With thick, grey,
Clouds of smoke.
The clouds burn
Deep in my lungs
Lifting the burden
From my chest,
Back, knees.
For a minute
My mind isn’t
So crowded.
For the moment
I feel relief.

Some nights
I numb myself
With casual company.
Women,
Who like I,
Are acquainted with he.
For a moment
We might distract
One another—
In that moment
There’s sometimes bliss
Temporary,
Fleeting,
Transient—


But undoubtedly,
Bliss…