You are what you do,
Not what you did,
Each day a new dawn
A chance to re-bid.

Others may never
Forgive or forget,
Some pain is permanent,
A  life long regret.

But you must be you,
And you know your shame,
The things that you've done,
Things  never done again.

So abandon your guilt,
Learn from your past,
Be kind and be better,
Make love unsurpassed.

When you cease to fear death,
Nothing will ever scare you.

Start there.

When you feel beaten,
Exhausted,
Lost and abandoned.

When you feel alone,
Empty,
Hopeless and scared.

Wrap your arms round your marmaduke,
Huggle, hold and re-create,
A dog is never just a friend,
A loyal love til the very end

Determinism. It's science.

Imagine a nearly infinite number,
Of domino pieces standing on end.

The big bang tipped over the first one.

Sunday morning.
The ***** *** chill has huddled,
And backed off for a week,
Maybe two,
Winter’s taunt tendered by reprieve,
An unexpected and
Odd postponement of pain and pulse.
The noose of minus 30
Loosens just a smidge,
The condemned man’s smirk,
Part sass this smile of temporary pardon,
Slips into place
Masks a weathered face
Whose wrinkles
Like the rings
Of the twisted Methuselah tree
Accumulate and record.

Dawn appears as a righteous force,
An arrogant prince this weak winter sun,
Still, sunlight sterilizes,
Scrubs away the stain of night.
It will be a black and white clear day,
The cold is crisp,
This morning’s taste is all hard apple,
The crunch of boots on the ground.

Take heart,
The days ahead will bend not break,
We have survived these times before,
Fought this hate before,
We will live to laugh again
Even if in folly.

It was her father’s fault of course,
He had cared for her too much.

He’d tendered love as a comfort
A cure,
His affection an antidote,
And she believed him and came to  
Depend on its sway.

He, her father, was a generous man with no money.
Well-educated and unwilling,
He refused to convert
And enlist as a worshiper of things.

How can you spend your life alone in a car, he asked.
Days, weeks, months trapped in solitary confinement,
Commute used to mean benefiting from a lesser sentence, he told her,

A judge would give you credit for picking up litter,
Or apologizing to your primary school teachers
For all the terrible things you'd done,
Then a month off your jail time, he explained,
His palms up, his shoulders in a shrug.

Now look at our roads, he said,
Everyone round shouldered and condemned,
In a cage, stones for eyes, barely breathing.

On the tram I meet people, I love the public square,
We are meant to mingle he said,
We need each other to make a life.

And so when her mother died,
Unexpected and sudden, what death isn’t really,
He took on simple work close to home.
He wanted her to know he was near, that’s all.

He understood the comfort young children find in
The literal sense of things and so,
He sat with her through every lunch hour and,
They ate soup and sandwiches together each day.

This saved her mind.
She knew that  now.

He, her father, was a chronic enabler of love.
In the fall they would laze on a park bench,
Yellow birch leaves like fashion stickers all over her rain boots,
And chat quietly as they tossed unfrozen frozen peas on to the pigeons.

On these afternoons he retold her stories about her mother,
His childhood, her grandparents and
The hard times,
When even a nickel could ignite the most outlandish of dreams.
Can you imagine, he would say,
Only five cents and we all thought our luck had finally changed.

He was an explainer and a tolerant,
He told her the sun rose up each day
Only to search for one new idea and that
She had a magnificent brain and
One day it would be her idea the sun would shine bright on.

He told her the purpose of her life,
Everyone’s life,
Was to think pure thoughts,
Small decisions that would help save the world, he said,
Contributions often so small no one might notice,
But each one would make a difference.

He said science called this the butterfly effect,
She loved the name.

He was thoughtful and fair
And so everything he stood for was impossible to duplicate.

He never forgot her birthday,

The dolls came in battered boxes
With crumpled corners and broken plastic windows.
Weathered cardboard coffins,
With magic marker scribbled on the back,
Gruff autographs like ‘return to vendor’ or ‘write-off,’
Words she paid no attention to,
Even when she began to understand what words can mean.

Her birthday cake- always a single slice never a round,
She had never seen her name in icing,
But why would that matter,
When she could wake up early in late November
And see all three of her names in elaborate calligraphy,
Etched into the frost of the front room windows
For every passerby to see

His all saint’s grin,
He told her every day of her life
That he saved the first smile of each day for her,
A smile he hid in his pocket, or under her pillow, behind her ear.

Her kingdom for a year was two card board castles in the living room,
Where, with official pageantry, (her father had a scroll),
She was crowned the Grand Duchess of Washer and Dryer,
Her word was law for the day.

He surrounded her palace,
With brightly coloured bowls and
Casserole dishes filled with water,
A protective moat into which he placed plastic animals,
Whereby he proclaimed in a court room voice,
All would become flying horses and loyal dragons
If danger ever dared to mock and threaten.

So when he died she was ready.
She wasn’t,
But as an adult she told everyone she was.

After the funeral she dressed the same,
She ate, she worked,
She offered her ****** Mary smile generously to small children,
She said please and thank-you in a clear voice,
And gave a dollar to every street person she could find.

She was near him when he passed.
She understood the comfort old men find
In the literal sense of things,
And for weeks she slept shotgun
In the chair by his bed.
She wanted to be near, that's all, and
She fed him soup, no sandwich, every day.

We all die he told her only moments before his turn.
Our only calm is our end, he said in a whisper as weak as
Mormon tea.
Do not regret, he cautioned her,
My life was mad and complete, he promised,
You were my good idea and the sun rewarded me,
He said in a voice so soft
She wanted to lay her head on it and drift away.
Then he smiled his first smile of the day,
Pressed a plastic dragon into her hand,
And withdrew.

The theory of Reality.
The theory of Knowledge.
The theory of Value.

And yet we don't even know if we exist.

Life is complicated.
Consciousness is sticky stuff.
Our path is predetermined.
Enjoy the ride.

I tried to think today and couldn't.
First time.
I sat in my chair and waited.
Nothing.

I can't believe evil has won.
But it has.

Catastrophe capitalism,
Unhinged greed,
Psychotic fear of one another,
Violence as both question and answer,
Self above all,
Love shriveled and unwound.

Last time **** went down like this,
It caused a world war.

Where do you think you will be,
When the bomb goes off.

Can we ever sing a simple song,
Where no one smiles and hums along,
A titled tune or random ditty
About eagles eating fluffy kitties.

Or must we all be kind and chaste,
Keeping everything above the waist,
Polite and kind and wash your hands,
Blood on linen, God's wonder brand.

Marla ordered eggs. Scrambled eggs, toast, black coffee and two
packages of peanut butter.

I had coffee with two sugars and a plate of dill pickles.

Do you love me, she asked me.

I never think about it, I replied, so yes.

Pass the salt please she said and we ate the rest of our meal in silence.

Are we tethered by a weathered worn,
A leash, a lash, a love that's torn,
Why this end, we pretend again
Kiss goodbye, regrets and pain.

Do not spit and tease me
With your duchess anger,
Or flaunt your sad pose,
Or **** with me,
By sigh or sob,
Wet cheeks red and damp,
A trickle lick of salt and tears.

I'm empty.
Do you hear me?

Drained pallid and lip crackle dry,
Not even a ******* stain of me to be found.

I can't see my shadow or myself
Hear my shouts,
Feel a fingerprint
Or even smell the blood stink
We conjure up on the hottest days.

I am gone. You can have the dogs.

Why do you hate me?
What did I do
That makes you stone me
With a constant guilty glare

Why do you look at me
That way.


It wasn't my fault.

She died.

In my arms.

Do you get that.

I could feel her heart beating.
And then I couldn't.

I slipped into a hero panic.
I ran twelve miles
With her dead ******* body in my arms.

But she was dead.

Before I began.
She was dead.

And now so are we.
I won't be in touch.
Again.
Ever.

Chasey calls them the dead mama blues.
There's sadness, she says, mine has a scent to it;
Despair, a shabby **** who mugs me under my covers
On winter days at dawn,
Catatonia, which only a messy bed,a ****,a bag of Cheetos and a boy can cure,
And then way down from there,
Squatting *** close to the ground,
Smoking Gauloises in the dark,
Live the dead mama blues.

The only cure for the dead mama’s, Chasey explains,
Is a blood rare steak and Etta James greatest hits on vinyl,
Played quiet through the sweet spot of the night,
All the lights off, the dishes done and dry.

Helps if a sister has a slim hip man to dance with, she said,
So if you ain’t runnin’, the grill’s on me.
Come by sober any time after moon rise, Chasey yawned,
Cause this girl could use a shoulder and a polite hand.

And bring your slippers, she said
Easier to shuffle over **** in sheepskin, plus
We might go up on the roof later on
And smoke some of my cubans for a while.

Door will be open, so please don’t ring,
Hell what am I saying, you know the path.
Chasey yawned again, a big one,
Waited a few seconds because there was nothing else to say
And hung up the phone with a sigh.

Inside me there is a madness.
A calm, calculating insanity,
That prowls for weakness.

I must be strong or die.
There are only two choices.
Ever.

First we lie to children,
Santa's happy smile,

Then we condemn them to eternal hell,
How nice to see you Father,

Before we insist that winning is everything,
Run, baby, run.

When is kindness,
Where is compassion,
How did we get stuck here,
Why do we hate,
Who is going to change things,

Do something. Anything.
I say to my mirror.
Before I sit down exhausted,

Sleep makes me tired.

Forsaken means always abandoned,
Friendless means ghosted alone.
Forfeit means loss is pandemic,
Forlorn means nobodies home.

Fractured means sadly still broken,
Forgotten means no one will care,
Forever means death is a prisoner,
Fraught means life is a dare.

What would I tell a younger me,
Buy Apple, Amazon, be a franchisee,
Make money'd be my drab and drone,
Abandon passion with its tiresome moan.

But if you are trapped inside a dream,
With no escape from the poet's scheme,
Then let go now of all trepidation
And live your life in anticipation.

For an artist is a soul that's lost,
Curious, carefree, despite that cost,
And if you member with rogues and jesters,
Then death scares not and fear sequesters.

I farted at Yoga,
And it wasn't a toot,
Think foghorn,
Or moose call,
A trombone salute.

The relief was enormous,
God's gift is a gas,
Who ever thought tranquility,  
Would burst from my ***.

We have one fear and only one,
It haunts us from the crib,
All others are pretenders,
Only fear of death has grip.

It seizes us before we speak
It holds throughout our lives,
It tempts us as a madness will,
Through all our time it thrives.

This fear stains men with blood desire,
We slaughter, cruel and maim,
As if another takes our place,
When death cries out our name.

Why nature felt the need to spoil
This sentience we savour,
No matter any deed we do,
Death waits, our unmasked saviour.

Carla told me to infiltrate.
To ignore all the precautions,
And breach my resistance under a full moon.

After all, she said, your sadness isn’t a disguise.
Your gloom is genuine, although prefabricated,
Surely you see the blueprint.

You have planned your demise since childhood,
Carefully constructing a fortress of self-abuse,
You don’t self-medicate, she said, you obliterate,

And then you wear your inadequacy like a crown,
As if to say no one feels pain like me.
This blow of sorrow, your prevailing wind,
The smell of burnt hair follows you, your melancholy assaults.

God, I can sense your anxiety blocks away, Carla told me,
Even if I’m baking chicken *** pie
And drinking breakfast tequila,
There is always this gust of despair.
And your current ability to fester a modest nausea,
In everyone, everywhere you go,
While amazing,
It only convinces, even your intimates,
That you have begun an irreversible decay.
Jesus, either you act now or you will disappear, Carla said.

You have one option, Carla told me,
Confront yourself and
Think about death honestly every day.
It is the only way for a depressive,
A man in a life jacket, she said
To survive.

Comfort yourself early, before dawn,
Curl up with your litter of pillows
And in that storm, that tornado you pretend is a bed,
Lie still, stare at the cracks in your ceiling
And search for spiders, Carla told me.
Wait until the disappointment of waking up alive again, subsides,
She said,
And while the sounds of the toilet you left running all night,
Convince you of the futility of self-improvement,
In this hollow moment,
Allow yourself to passively, selfishly, contemplate death.

Do not conjure up the act of dying, Carla said,
It is deviant and corrupt and insincere to rehearse your final moments,
And as you know, she continued,
I have no inherent objections to suicide.
After all war is mass suicide
And where would we be without violence,
Jesus, nothing would ever get done, so no, she said,
This is not that at all.

And God knows with your ego,
If I tell you to think about death,
You will descend into hero worship, she said,
Or worse, martyrdom and quest,
No, Carla said, imagine what death is like,
Think scientifically about what it means to be dead.

I will never get out of bed, I replied,
If I’m encouraged to wallow.
If I roll over before I wash my arms and feed my birds,
I may recoil forever.
You know I have an addiction to thought, I reminded her,
An adhesive meme,
(Why did that woman throw her cat in the garbage can),
Will arrest and detain me for an entire day.

It’s worth it, Carla said,
I want you to understand the carefulness of death,
The miracle of pain in absence,
The cessation of doubt,
The sudden end of futility and horror,
And I want it to absorb you, all of you,
Until you become reassured of its tenderness,
The fairness and equality that ends all things.

There is no need to frustrate,
To pray for significance, Carla advised me,
Free yourself from heroism and
Your self-destructive pattern of wishful thinking.

As it is, the number of women you sleep with and discard
Should be punishable by jail time,
When will you learn that fulfillment will never be a number.

And your attempt to write a novel,
Is tiresome, the delusion insulting,
The pretense unforgivable.
And the lies you tell,
The anger you express,
Mostly from a stool,
Undermines everything you claim to be.

You have a mirror,
Probably one that hasn’t been cleaned in a century
So use it,
Study the creases in your face,
Your boxer’s bruised eyes,
Jesus, why do you always look like you’ve just lost a fistfight.

I stared at Carla, my cup of coffee warm between two hands.
Ok I get the death is my reward thing, sort of, I said
But how do I salvage any joy at this point,
Is my life, my whole ******* life, going to be a stockpile of misery.

Christ, you are a perpetual novice, Carla said,
And I have the feeling you are about to drool,
Listen,
Death isn’t our reward,  
But to those who corner it,
A well worthwhile prize.

I don’t want you be puzzled by outcomes anymore, Carla said,
Do they like me, do they hate me, do they even know I exist,
You must stop chasing and being overwhelmed,
Be consumed, be rebirthed by the attractiveness of irrelevance,
Empower yourself with insignificance,
Forgo your Causa sui willingly,
Surrender your need for meaning, purpose and story
And go sit on a bench for a year, nothing more.

You must allow the softness of death to befriend you, Carla said
And when you do,
You will stop being impulsively afraid of everything,
Perish your self-serving search for an absolute truth,
Accept your limits without choking on your limitations,
And your confusion will degrade, she advised.

Carla frowned and turned away from me.
Usually a crow flies by when we part.
If you **** yourself, I want to be there, she said.
She undid the top button of her coat,
Took off the necklace with the crucifix and the picture of John Lennon,
Threw it into the East river,
And squeezed my hand as brief and sudden as a ghost.

Harsh words,
A slap, a fist,
A kick, a twist.

Emotions are ******* physical she whisper- hissed.
And punched me in the cheek.

Bruise me, she begged
And drew a bit of blood,
With her slightly deformed knuckle.

I want to feel, please,
She pleaded with me,

Whip me, strip me, shadow both my eyes,
And she pulled my hair violently.

I cannot love, she said.
So please beat me and wear me down
Until I'm too exhausted to **** myself.

Do you understand, she demanded,
And she pulled the skin under my eye
Hard and
Away from my face
Hideously painful.

I want to die,
I want to cry,
I want to tell endless lies,
I want to despise,
And criticize,
Humiliate and trivialize.

I want to die, she said.

Tease me, tempt me, tickle me too,
Kiss me, cuddle me, cradle on cue,
Love me, lavish me, leave me in lieu,
Forget me, fickle me, a frivolous few.

Tell me, taunt me, tattle tales,
Catch me, clench me, countervails,
Ask and answer, ache all over,
Hover, hasten, head hungover.

Bright, burn and crackle,
Snap, burst and flame,
A wet log tossed upon,
Sparks a firefly game.

Marshmallow torches
Sticky finger's taste,
Butter kisses sugar sweet,
Slows the summer’s haste

Sing songs and hum a longs,
Lovers search for clues,
Naming constellations naked,
Each dark a rendezvous.

Last late night, the waves, the stars,
At dawn the sun is shy,
Salty teardrop promises,
Heart's hope, hands held, a sigh.

Have poems become a toasty treat,
Something we make a bit too sweet,
Can I really tell my friends from fancy
Polished words exchanged are chancy.

I always sense the close encounter,
Although I know my choice is flounder,
Tell me once what broke your heart,
Or is it better that I start.

Drunk wind.
Winter's first punch,
A knuckled fist,
Stamps a bully's bruise,
A constant cult of cold abuse,
No hat, no hope,no coin,no ride,
An icy trail, a slippery stride,
As cracked and lacquered lips
Turnstile and freeze.

Freak storm.
Snow banks and barricades,
A braille ice forms in black brocade,
Flesh hues from flourish pink,
To black and blue.
Tears crystallize and shatter,
Teeth calypso clap and chatter,
Fingers tunnel down the the warmest niche
And flee.

Who can you say is your friend?

Whose name can you shout out loud?

Would they run to you?

Would they die for you?

Would they kneel and cry for you?

Who?

There are people from my past,
Who seem to last and last,
While others touch and go,
Like a footprint in the snow.

Why one becomes a friend
While the others are pretend.
Is an outcome so absurd,
It makes friendship best endured.

What will you have, asked the waitress,
A death sandwich I replied,
Mustard and ketchup, she continued,
Yes and slather the mayo, double the cheese, I answered back politely,
You’re aura is a spiral, she said, whole wheat or white,
White with butter and does it come with final fries, I queried,
Included, she replied
And a new indelicate sugar fix by the pail.
Make mine to go, I suggested.
Want to quantum up and get a piece of plague cake
Maybe **** cookies in a bowl.
What a wonderful time to be alive I remarked,
The only generation to ever eat itself to death she quipped,
We’re special I said and looked away.

Pick me.

Pic me.

From Boomer to Millennial

Each day a brighter setting sun,
A full moon's promise, Spring's begun,
Dawn is destined, new life has spun,
I sleep well knowing, love has won.

I can't find the logic,
In a life lived in fear.

So I fantasize.
And pretend to conquer all the ghosts.

For 240,000 years we lived
In small groups.
100 to 150 in your clan
And the hunting and gathering was good.

For the last 10,000 years,
We domesticated ourselves,
Thousands then tens of thousands and
Finally millions of us jammin' on main street.

In small groups we the knew the trouble makers,
Justice came swift and accurate as hell.
But in our massive modern congregations,
The spin is on, not so easy to pin a tail.

So the city boys and girls invented god.
Said his eyes and ears were everywhere,
It was the only way we could think of,
To get a million or more to tow the line.

But he's not up there, out there or anywhere.
Yes god is an attempt to make a better world,
And maybe it was even the right thing to do.
But now he divides us and it is time for god to go.

If words were jellybeans on burnt toast,
I'd eat them raw, a bag at most,
I'd share them with my neighbour's ghost,
Who lives in a barn that smells.

If punctuation was a warrior's code,
With secret meanings meant to implode,
I'd message you before I explode,
My last words are I love you.

If definitions were a secret chant,
I'd yak all night about Emmanuel Kant,
The meaning of life my boring rant,
And I have puddles for shoes .

Please forgive and never forget,
A poet at play has no regrets,
Smiling, happy, a marionette,
I'll share my donuts with you.

Who stole the dark,
Where did night go,
Who turned all black to blue and glow,
L E D to O C D,
No fade to pitch, I constant-see.

How can we dream, incessant light,
My raw honed urge to think at night,
Now everyone owns text and screen,
There is no time when we’re not seen.

Hand back my true nocturnal pause,
Not just for sleep, this poet’s cause,
I need my hours when I am blind,
Turn off those things, here’s what you’ll find.

Music lives to play at night
Notes like fireflies, dance in flight,
Smell the air when all is black
You’ll taste the world, a tactile snack.

Kiss her when she can't see you,
Surprise her with a touch or two,
Whisper in her ear and shiver,
In darkness she will arch and quiver.

One week each year is all I ask
All light switched off, a worldwide task,
I beg this ghost returned to all,
Dreams ignite when darkness falls.

I asked Vanessa
If she had a cure for block.
You know that whisky dipped, **** ****** feeling of despair,
The **** sure, achy *****, tastes like ***, Jesus Monday already,
Realization,
You've said every ******* thing you have to say
Twice.

Vanessa said, only pain cures block,
And after the limp life you've led, she said,
You might be incurable.

Perhaps, and she
Stared at me over the black rims of her glasses
Until I felt damp and exchanged,
Perhaps you have inoculated yourself against all forms of creativity,
Simply by being a ******* wimp.

You pride yourself on being a child, she said,
A L'Enfant terrible, a pretense
Someone who would swear in a church,
Tell a woman her cleavage was obvious,
Or pretend to count your change three times
To irritate the bartender.

All a charade,
The artist as infant,
That’s you!
Instead, here she hesitated,
Of the artist as infinite-

Do you get it, she demanded,
Do you understand the distinction at all,
She asked me,
As half a baguette exploded out of her fat mouth.

I didn't and I began to sulk, withdraw
Bite my lip and pick at the scab on my hand.

Pain you fool,
Vanessa moved closer to my face,
Put yourself in real danger
Buy a ******* ticket to Tangiers or New Delhi,
Take only your passport,
No money, no phone, no safety straps, no underwear,
Just go and see what happens to you.

Yes you might die,
Be drugged and have your organs removed,
Be ***** by philistines with aids,
Who will jeer at your poet’s credentials,
And sell your kidneys,
But go.

Go now
I will drive you to the airport and buy your ticket,
Throw yourself into the world,  
Powerless,
And dependent on the conscience of strangers,
Here
Vanessa said,
And extended her hand,
Let me squeeze your testicles blue,
It will stimulate your courage
And uproot and cleanse the black mold
Of your depression.

You cannot watch life anymore,
She pleaded with me,
You are useless now and trite,
Know one thing,
You are not blocked
You are dead.
I’m offering you another chance
At everything.
Jump at it.

The oddest memories.

The day the swing hit me in the head, full force.

The day I ran into the concrete wall,
At the end of a dark corridor,
At full speed.

The day I wet my pants,
In grade two,
And the teacher made me sit over the puddle
For two hours.

Standing on the side of the road,
For 10 hours,
End of November,
Minus 25.

5 days in jail for a speeding ticket,
My choice.

My mother unable to speak,
The nurse held the phone,
Moments before she died.

Memories delicate and fine,
The past and present intertwine.

I've reached a certain point in life,
Where nothing matters much,
I play with words and pontificate,
As age becomes my crutch.

In my head I'm still awake,
The world a simple place,
Get up, get dressed, get moving dude,
Beware a fall from grace.

So what's been learned in all these years,
What message can I give.
Empathy is god's special gift,
It is yourself, you must forgive.

I suggested you go as a window
Because everyone can see right through you.

You suggested I stick a piece of dowling in my belt,
And go as a woodpecker, ha ha.

Sisters!
Cruel, funny, somehow love clicks.

I once fell off a horse,
And hit the ground so hard I could not breathe.

Later in the same day, an empty swing,
In a playground.
Hit me right in the forehead.

We weren't tougher back then.
We were alone.

Touch becomes taste when
You're in a haste.

Fingers as food if
You're in the mood.

Slip your clothes on and dance for me.
Covering up is arousal and allure.

Don't say that you'll love me forever,
Please don't,
Please, please never ever pray for me,
After today.

What I want to know, what I must know,
Listen closely,
Is--  can you, will you, forget me,
Don't cry

You have the rest of your life.
Hold me,
You must not live in my shadow, our shadow,
Tighter please.

Tonight we tag the best of our times,
Our children,
Tonight we laugh until we are drunk with joy,
So beautiful.

Promise me when I am gone,
Promise me you will move on.

Say it.

Can we walk and talk, all memories,
The past so light and feathery,
My life now love and revery,
Your smile so complimentary.

Kiss me, tickle, tease a bit,
How many years did we commit,
So willingly did I submit,
Love is our bond with innocence.

Stuck my thumb out,
Been fifteen years since I've tapped a ride.
Feels raw and unfamiliar.

Once stood on the Trans-Canada.
For two days,
Just outside of Medicine Hat.
Cold night.

People are afraid of me.
I can see it in their eyes as they **** bye,
Puppy frowns, won't play eye tag, no smiles.

Most interesting conversations of my life,
Were inside a stranger's car.
People will tell a hiker everything.
Why not.

There's a beauty in the chance encounter.
A freedom.
Give it another hour but the day might be gone.
Too bad.
Asking is starting to look like begging.
And begging never works.
Ever.

You can't go back  home, to a home that's unknown,
To a cache of hard memory, constant new treachery,
You can't go back home, to a home all alone,
Each morning's new fear, made me disappear.

I can't go back home, it's my no go zone,
No need for revenge, I just can't comprehend,
Why we hated each other, why we all felt so smothered,
Not one day went by, we weren't living a lie.

I won't go back home, my heart marble and stone,
I cannot forget, I age with regret,
Anger, self-hate, for me it's too late,
My bitter divide, still nowhere to hide.

The mist appeared,
Seconds after the sun finally came unglued
From its passionate kiss  
Of the brush and edge of a prairie horizon.
Its last bit of linger,
Promised a rainbow.

Dawn needs a witness,
A town crier,
Someone to shout outloud,
That no one is forgotten,
To assure all who early rise,
Hope is earned and alive.

Hope lives, hope endures, hope loves to surprise.

She scheduled her death for November 3.
Her orphan hope,
If hope could still be cradled,
Was for a thin sweep of snow on the ground,
Maybe a bit of a howl out of the northwest,
(A dog whistle wind, her son Duncan called it,)

and,

If these fertile and malignant aliens at outpost
In her pancreas and liver,
If they held gracious,
Then she would attempt one last respite

and

She'd stand alone at winter’s edge
Inside the pencil sketch of a forest,
The oak and barren elms asleep,
Their crooked witch’s fingers
Scratching upward, thin and still,
If she could endure long enough,
She’d tempt a final plea,
To overwhelm the Carciginians

and

She would wake these slumbering giants
With her soft envy,  
She would beg the forest for its for secrets,
She would kneel and ask for the gift of a long nap,
Her wish to rise,
When all awake in spring again.

Of course in the end,
She bartered her desperation,,
Exchanged the ignominy of begging for her life,
For the crow’s caw,
The ivory of a full moon,
The damp step of a midnight in dew,
Her forest held her,
The wind whispered her name in soft repeat,
As she realized her eternity,
Her evermore,
Her head up, her heart insured.
Always this sheltered wood had counseled her,
She was careful to apologize,
Offer a traveler's grace,
It was her last goodbye.

Hope died yesterday at 3:01 a.m. mountain time.
It was a massive cardiac arrest.
The hearts of every good person in the world
Exploded simultaneously.
Over six million instant deaths,
Unplanned, unexpected
Unexplained,
All the nice people died on mass.

If you are alive this morning
You are not one of the good people.
You are one of the *******.
At least with clarity we can move forward.
We have a starting point.
I am an *******,
Now let’s make things better.

I know I will never be free
Of my demons and dark moons.

Oddly there is relief, perhaps comfort,
When all of hope disappears.

Death isn't a state of being,
Nor a moment of relief,
It's not a next step answer,
Heaven will not sanction grief.

There is a nix and nothing,
After life we fade away
No mix of yin and yang.
Save a breath and do not pray