growing up every
thing was late
parents waited
until thirty-two
to adopt the infant
with the big blue eyes
starring at them
from then on
it seems we were
always
late

leaving our excuses
in the offering plate
or even earlier in
the holy water
it didn’t bother them
they were used to
it as they left
excuses in their
footprints
on the way to
school in the
parking lot
at soccer
practice it

was just normal
thought nothing
of it as they bought
our christmas tree
on christmas eve’s
eve getting rid of it
in exchange for when
four-leaf clovers
came good day easter
savior april fools

we were late again.
but then
again
it’s only time.

nowadays adulthood
everything seems
earlier happening
before it should
got pregnant before
marriage had to install
a dvd in the van due
to us arriving earlier
than planned always
there to help set up
help out clothes
still damp from the
dryer premature
warnings (bzzz)

putting our excuses
in times doubts realities
were the future holding
a late past whipped in
the principles office
tardy slip-fearing
b.y.o.b. but, the
party was there
and the bathrooms
weren’t even cleaned
we get

our christmas tree
while we still have
left-over turkey for
Christ’s birthday new
years resolutions already
made before we
unwrap gifts the
only one out of our
friends with kids
and responsibilities
no fooling we
always get
the worm

we’re always early.
but then
again
it’s only time.

The most beautiful are the broken humans,
because we learned how to bloom when our lives were completely in ruins.
We still became stars when the sun burned out and every demon in our head filled us with doubt.
Instead of praying, hoping someday the pain would go away,
we created a light and never gave up the fight.
This one is for people who went to sleep contemplating if they want to see tomorrow.
We are the most beautiful because we learned to blossom in the
eternal darkness called sorrow.

The ravels in my sleeve of care
Grow longer every night-
Especially in the morning
When I struggle back to sleep
From waking up too early

Only to be bushwhacked
By brigades of unsolved problems,
Battalions of frustration
And whole Armies of defeatment
Marching out to meet me.

While you’re asleep your secret mind
Is solving all the puzzles
That unhinge the hours when you’re awake
And dodging slings and arrows.
That is the scholar’s promise.

That is what the con men say
In psychiatric clinics
Where they write the books
Explaining what it means to fly
And why we never land when falling.

Sleep refreshes and renews-
At least that is the theory.
It’s not supposed to wear you out
And beat you down while dreaming
Out the scripts you didn’t write.

When the raveling is complete
And both my sleeves have come undone
Will I dream of flowered fields
And happy times, successes and rewarding
Or will it end and I no longer dream at all.
                    ljm

someone done stole my baby
ran off with her in the night
updated her right out of my life
put her in some hideous makeup
made her a ****
a lowclass streetwalker
I search everywhere
can I get her back?