The Lady had him chained
In that white, tile room
Where she'd spent many painful hours
Contemplating her doom
The police didn't even
Have a clue he was missing
The Lady hired a *******
Who drugged him while kissing
The poor dumb *****
As a witness was silenced
She lay dead in the alley way
Her death, it was violent
Now, in the white tile room
He'd been bleeding all the while
The Lady stood outside the door
Wearing a murderous smile
He awoke with a scream
Looked around, saw fingers missing
He remembered fading out
While he and the ***** had been kissing
Realising where he was
His bleeding body began to shake
He knew The Lady was taking revenge
For all his ****** mistakes
Many nights he'd chained her here
Just to hear her scream
But now he was in her place
Like a bad ******* dream
Outside the door he heard a noise
It was a murderous humming
He knew that sound well
It was a chainsaw running
The Lady stepped through the door
Rage on her face
He struggled to get away
But he would lose this race
The Lady revved the chainsaw up
He started to beg
The Lady wouldn't hear it
And off came his leg
Now that white tile room
Wasn't white anymore
Blood, fingers, and body parts
Littered the floor
The Lady slid down the wall
Sat down and took a breath
Now all around her
Was the sight and smell of death
The Lady didn't mind
No, she didn't care
Because in Love and war
All is fair

in the days that open Spring
bestoyed to its residents
    newfound dreams
and ridding of arctic air
   that ruled the wind
reminding winter to rescind
this moment in time
    decisions, it seems
are made by the meek
   turned rulers and kings
as the earth and moon must know
to grant a few days to gentle souls -who-
like the newborn cubs and flowers
have some sort of understanding
    with heaven's powers

Small Colorado mountain library
Had too many books, I guess
And was selling them, a bag for a buck
So I threw a handful in a bag
    I wanted to read
But also, some fifteen cent gambles
Which happened to include
"The White Pony: An Anthology
Of Chinese Poetry" 1947
A compilation of poems
Translated into English
Some brilliant
Some three thousand years old
Or older
(No one seems to know)
Some notes in the margins
And underlined by a previous owner
(Also brilliant)
And this fifteen cent investment
Is opening a world of old masters
Who can speak to me
From their world of wars
Concubines and starvation
To my domestic modernity
With ease
With celebration
Of life's simple things
These are not foreign souls
Masters, yes
But utterly relatable
From their quiet reflections and virtues
Under the peach blossom tree

Three visible stars
Glass of tempranillo
The final pages of
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Clear calm skies
Breaths settle senses
Like calm leaves after wind
Quiet spreads through trees
And the house
Returning to roots, foundations
Sharers of the evening moon
Heaven and earth - drowsing
The dormant volcanoes
We are, occasionally able
To release hints
Of the indescribable thing

This ancient wound will be healed
The blood that pours from the mouths
Of the oppressed
Will be stopped
The thunder that rocks the bones of the weak
Will be silenced
The acrid smog that fogs young lungs
Will be cleansed
And the cancer that grips humble innards
Will evaporate
We the champions of destiny
Will flower
Our bodies will purify
Even our minds
Our vibrating essences
Will reform our dwellings
And peace will grow like a beautiful ornament