I watch as the sun sets
ceramic shadows cast
on the valley
waiting to be shattered

The headlights shine
dispersing darkness
caliche road
shines like a porcelain dream

Rolling gravel sparkles
quail and cottontails
scatter on my approach
jackrabbit zig zags in front of me

Starlight now
primordial night
the animals prowl
ancient memories sparked

Nights power prompts
fear, excitment and lust
my awareness drifts
becoming one with the night

Pump  jacks, mesquites  and  telephone  poles
ice  rattles  in  my  cup , in  the  center  console  
horn toads, ground  squirrels, coveys of  quail  
road  runner , coyotes  and  foxes  on  the  trail  

All  alone  out  on  the  road  
backroads is  where  I  roam  
white  stripes, a  dotted  line  
driving  in  the  warm  sunshine  

Window  down , the  wind  blows  in  
old  school  tunes  rock  from  backspin
passing  trucks  in  the  oil  field  
now  in  front  a  clear  windshield

Texas  border, not  far  away
switch  to  country, let  it  play
Merle  haggard  sings, as  antelopes  graze
in  the  field, a tractor cuts  hay

A lynx crosses the road in front of me
carrying a rabbit, caught something to eat
a rare sight indeed, but you never know
what you'll see on the back roads

You think you have done it,
job complete,
the end.

But what you really have done
is bounced,
a ballistic arc of life,
the journey's not complete.

Each bounce is but a step,
graduation,
college,
graduation.

Job,
promotion,
marriage,
parenthood.

Anniversaries,
birthdays­.

Weddings,
funerals.

However
you measure time,
like a flea hopping,
life is a trampoline.

Just bouncing along,
until there is,
no spring left.
death.

Head shaved smooth,
beard on point,
about to hit this *****-tonk joint

Hat cleaned up,
boots shined up right,
bling belt buckle, shiny and bright.

At the bar, two shots back,
redhead slides by,
I begin to mack.

Buy her her a drink,
wants Beam on ice,
she shows a smile that lights up the night.

Asked her to dance,
a song by Jerry Reed,
belly rubbing music is what we need.

Spin her around,
a time or two,
she leans in close when we are through.

Our lips meet,
lightning strikes,
the place goes dark, closes for the night.

Hand in hand,
to my pick up truck,
the city is dark and thunderstruck.

Cruising back roads,
watching the storm rage,
Bob Seger sings, Turn the page.

So that's what I do,
I make my move,
she moves back and is down to groove.

Dancing in the rain,
in pick up lights,
beginning something special, on this night.

Basil leaves and cigar smoke,
touch my olfactory bulb,
Harvey Danger's Sitta plays,
explaining I'm not sick, just unwell.

Pool chlorine fragrances,
trigger spinning Rolodex cards,
ejecting a memory of parties past,
I shake the ice in my empty glass.

Sweet and sticky simple syrup,
muddled basil, a pinch of salt,
lemon juice waters the mouth,
the piney taste of Bombay gin.

Shaking now, the sound of ice,
an avalanche of sound and flavor,
now ready to slide into my cup,
refilled, to the night and my chair.

The warp and wrap of leaves,
feel familiar in my hand,
as does the clip of the end,
the flick of a lighter flame.

Couple of Puffs and I enjoy,
Earth and spice notes,
I blow out a cloud of smoke,
quickly carried on the desert breeze.

I lean back in my chair,
another puff or two,
a long sip of basil smash,
and reflect on yesterday and today.

Naked vision of beauty,
as she lays in the tub,
red hair floating at her shoulders,
pert ******* reach out from the water.

Soap bubbles glide and pop,
along long legs lathered,
green painted toes breathe air.
I long to get in,
but it's time to go to work.

Upon the field, that runs with blood,
we stand united, against the flood,
kite shields locked into a wall,
can we stand against them all?

Gorgons stare with pupils stone,
but they do not want to be alone,
but alas their fated curse,
to live without love, what could be worse?

Trapped inside the conscious stream,
stuck within the waking dream,
watching people slowly die,
did most even bother to try?

It was the age when water flowed,
cities grew, electricity glowed,
populations soared, like birds with wings,
wondering what the future could bring?

BBQ cookin, Jack and Coke,
sitting on the porch waiting on some folks
Ready to party when they arrive
supposed to be here just after five

Its a party with family and friends
when it starts who knows when it ends
Having fun, as the sun goes down
singing songs and getting down

Have a cup
fill it up
red solo, or Dixie
whiskey, tea or pepsi
your gonna need a drink
and some time to think

Its a party with family and friends
when it starts who knows when it ends
Having fun, as the sun goes down
singing songs and getting down

Fajitas are done time to eat
Onions and peppers, two kinds of meat
all the toppings are on the table
pile them on, if you are able
Dinner done
Time for fun

Its a party with family and friends
when it starts who knows when it ends
Having fun, as the sun goes down
singing songs and getting down

Liquid courage for what's to come
a little dancing, don't be glum
Find a partner, cut a rug
grab your cup, take a chug

Its a party with family and friends
when it starts who knows when it ends
Having fun, as the sun goes down
singing songs and getting down

Big screen TV set up outside
Karaoke machine, sing with pride
doesn't matter if you're good, just have fun
singing away with the sinking sun

Don't stop Believing and Crazy train
We have them all just don't strain
Clap for  all and tease a few
Its a loud rambunctious crew

Its a party with family and friends
when it starts who knows when it ends
Having fun, as the sun goes down
singing songs and getting down

Waffle-like prints in the sand,
maple syrup sun pours across the land,
sunrise beach bulldozed clean,
sandhill dunes growing green.

Opalescent sheen of mother of pearl,
old oyster shells spin and whirl,
the waves come in with a slap,
seagull wings beat and flap.

Sand dollars here, but no change,
the crab runs sideways it's quite strange,
bottlenose dolphin swims right by,
the sun climbs higher in the sky.

Jelly fish, opaque blue balloon,
sandpipers squeak out a tune,
colored clams exposed with every wave,
they dig in fast like crawling in a grave.

No longer alone as the day begins,
kites now fly in the onshore wind,
parents and children, with frisbees and nets,
picnics to come and skin surfing I'll bet.

Presents wrapped colorfully out on the sand
the gulf shore waves test the knots and bows
fabric triangles and strings leave just enough
to the imagination, while curves show

A stunning visual display on water and land
Bouncing like the volleyballs, part of the show
small, medium, large, some overstuffed
rogue wave washes it off and now we know

Over sarcoline sand, I stare,
it is dotted here and there,
fulvous and falu umbrellas impaled,
the smaragdine waves try but fail.

Over and over it tries to stay,
while on the beach the children play,
burned to shades of amaranth pain,
and suddenly cooled by afternoon rain.

My eyes are trapped by the coquelicot,
her bikini color, on her yacht,
I watch and yearn as it cruises by,
a single tear streams from my eye.

But I wipe it away and take a drink,
the chartreuse liquid lets me think,
the taste of citrus, and of salt,
down the beach, my eyes do walk.

Volunteering is hard to do
especially when you are under view
of other parents who never help
but nonetheless, you help their whelp.

Along with your child as well
to do whatever sport or activity swell
you work hard and give your time
you may even hurt your spine.

Raking, shoveling, loading, and moving
so your kid and others can play ball or shooting
baseball, football, Softball, soccer
dancing, cheering so many a blur.

Volunteers up late at night making plans
hauling equipment around in vans
writing schedules is a pain
and no matter what somebody’ll complain.

Have a meeting same folks there
those same people are all that care
it seems every year other parents just complain
they do not care to share our pain.

And come help and make it better
but they are the first ones to write a letter
to the paper or our group
telling us that our work is ****.

Or worse words often times
they act as if we committed a crime
against them or their kids
but without us, the programs would be on the skids.

With no one else to help us out,
we do our best without a doubt
are there people who do wrong?
stacking teams so they are strong.

Yes some, but not all organizations are that way
some just want the kids to play
and be the best they possibly can
but all we hear from the stands.

Is negativity all the time
those people didn’t even offer a dime
if you coach or administrate
a league or work the gate.

Or even in the concession stand
I believe you deserve a hand.
if you do not like how some things run
then volunteer and have some fun.

You might learn why some things are
be willing to help and you’ll go far
in making the groups run better
just by being a go getter.

Offer new opinions and you will see
most groups will listen willingly
so come in with an open mind
make some suggestions and you will find.

Outsiders are welcome to the pack
help keep our group on track
to meet kids needs no matter what
straight complaining matters not.

So be an aider
not a complainer
volunteer some time
and you will find.

That the people you often hate
just need help to administrate
those people may become your friends
it’s on you to make amends.

Beauty shined upon
With early morning light
Streaming through the blinds
Illuminating bright

Mirrored reflections
Infinity of sight
In her glasses lenses
I can see into her night

She sits there silent
I can see the thoughts inside
As laced light holds her
Wish I was by her side

Photons kiss her lips
And caress straight down her chest
Or is the light there
From her heart, that is the best

On a wing and a prayer,
the sound of feathers and wind roar,
as it dives toward the ground,
yellow talons outreached.

A brown streak runs into crispy tumbleweeds,
and darts in and out of desert dunes,
seeking shelter with a squeal,
as death drops from above.

Small turmeric colored flowers,
grow in bunches surrounded by halos of green,
attracting, but dangerous,
thorny burs to puncture feet.

Black and brown scorpions,
hide from the blistering heat
under rocks and vegetation,
lurking, waiting the opportunity to sting.

The desert is a dangerous place,
as the rattlesnake leaves a trail
across the red-brown sand,
and disappears in the blowing dust.

I don't believe
clothes make the man
but I can usually tell,
from the shake of his hand

Eyes meet and a firm grip
a single shake or two
is the hand shake I expect
if you want me to respect you

A limp and cold dead fish
is the handshake of a fake
and introducing myself
is instantly a mistake.

The sad rags hung about her frame,
she had played but lost the game,
on the streets now, she gets by,
on the edge but never dies.

Hope lives eternal or so they say,
the ones on the street simply pray,
one foot in front of the other,
trudging along even further.

Under bridges around fifty-five gallon drums,
they stand and warm with the other bums,
or that's what society labels them today,
they wouldn't be here if there was any other way.

So scrape and scrape, and scrape some more,
just to live and eat and score,
a bed here and a meal there,
that's why you see them everywhere

Ignited oil upon the griddle,
burning words, that mind fiddle,
confusion in meanings and context,
the futures behind me, but what is next.

The past is always tomorrow away,
and you live yesterday, like today,
the clock spins and unwinds,
yet you never regain the time.

The colors fade, but darkness brightens,
the grinning and laughter now it frightens,
the dreaded smile, and welcomed frown,
knowing that you never always let down.

Circular logic like a rubber ball,
always bouncing, but never falls,
sitting still in chronic motion,
sinking high into the ocean.

Occam's razor heals the skin,
Schrodinger's cat is always within,
The box is closed but nothing is concealed,
Cosby's Jell-O has congealed.

Where this goes,
everyone knows,
yet the knowledge is never learned,
and the ice fire can never burn.

Graphite words shade the corners,
as the picture comes to life,
the poem begins to take shape,
in the darkness of my mind.

Finger tips, lightly drawn
Across bare skin
In places
Usually hidden

Goose bumps raised
Along with expectations
Stimulations and possible
Permutations

Blood boils
And expands
Filling and raising
Engorging

Electrical impulses
Spark along neurons
As temperatures
Increase

Lubricants and friction
Fight a battle
As other fluids
Are exchanged

Ecstasy reached
In full release
As squeezing and kissing
Reach heights

The sounds and smells
Of fulfillment
Fill the room
Spent and weak

Hidden lust behind the mask,
the come hither grin, and the lick of lips,
being someone else, inhibitions gone,
frees the self to try things, taboo.

Silica sparkles as the clouds part,
full Moon light illuminates the barrenness,
Mesquite leaf shadows like feathers,
tickle the prickly pears underneath.

In the darkness I feel eyes,
staring and studying me,
I click on the flashlight light,
nothing, no one at eye level.

I shine the beam around,
on the ground, thousands of sparkles,
reflect in the projected light,
frost, dew, jewels, I do not know.

To my knees I go,
studying the shimmering specks,
I suddenly realize why I felt watched,
spiders, hundreds of tiny spiders.

Their eyes like miniature mirrors,
staring at me, and sending my light,
back in my direction
signaling me their presence.

An army marches,
through fallen leaves,
ready for battle for food,
but I am not their prey.

Yesterday's comments still stinging,
like rocks thrown at my back,
the attack never complete,
as it plays on a loop in my mind.

Be Prepared not Scared
40 tucked in the back of my pants,
out in the street, people scurry like ants,
concealed carry license, two extra clips,
Swiss army knife, to slice or snip.

Boy scouts always say be ready,
every day carry, yeah mine is steady,
never leave the house  without being prepared,
it's about having a plan, not being scared.

Say you're at the mall one fine day,
suddenly thugs come out to play,
or you're at the shop, here come the looters,
or you come across an active shooter.

Do you want to cower down and die,
or protect yourself and others, rack the slide,
you've practiced but  it's hard to take a life,
but that dude is aiming at your wife.

He just shot your neighbor's kid,
so you pull your gun, shoot and glad you did,
double tap center mass, he goes down,
911 from your phone, the sirens sound.

Apply pressure to the wound of the kid,
she'd a few tears for what you witnessed and did,
but it could've been worse, just one fatality,
mentally unstable man with scrambled reality.

The point of this story is not to be a hero,
but to be ready to do more than zero,
planning and practice goes a long way,
sometimes it might even save the day.

muddy water hides
freckled skin reddened
multicolored cloth surrounding

From my seat upon the moon,
I hear the laughter of the loon,
see wings flashing of blue-green teal,
gazing upon a scene quite surreal.

With moonlight, I light the way,
Over open oceans albatross play,
In the blazing white Antarctic snow,
Emperor penguins black feathers glow.

Chickadees flit and perch,
the hunting shrike a meal to search,
The blue king fisher has one wish,
Clear water and a long plump fish.

Purple Martins sing and swoop,
Scissor tail flycatchers loop to loop,
The ostrich runs across the land,
But never buries its head in the sand.

Unraveling at the seams,
sliced apart by unseen beams,
burned into a viscous smoke,
I blow away with each wind stroke.

Evaporating thoughts and dreams,
floating away like clouds of steam,
soon I will cease to care,
it will be as if I was never there.

Like a cloud, whose storm blew away,
I will not be allowed to stay,
a desert mirage you can no longer see,
soon I simply will not be.

Clinking links, hang from silvered cuffs,
jagged edges glisten in the blazing light,
sweat runs down the back,
from the hacksaw might.

Drops of blood imagined,
running down from my heart,
her words a dagger,
destroyed my new start.

Escaped a prison,
but waited too long,
my bird began to sing,
a brand new song.

Cinderblocks attached
to the brand new chain,
pad locked in place,
as I stand in the rain.

Stiletto blade digs in
leaving a thin red line,
that will burn and drain
in the salt water brine.

Crashing waves below
swallow chain and concrete,
followed rather quickly,
by the soles of my feet.

Dragged down below,
even only in my mind,
sunk into a pit of despair,
I will be hard to find.

A coat of paint applied in the night,
the landscape now devoid of color,
bleached and the edges smudged,
no details visible in the early light.

The sun begins to climb and burn through
the **** frost that clings to everything,
setting the morning afire, with tiny LED lights
as each crystal and each flake reflect.

The wind is powered by Sols energy,
it begins to pick up and roll the powder,
combining it with ice and forming forts,
and mountains, as it piles it high.

Outside adventurers return,
red-cheeked and frozen,
glazed white like cinnamon rolls,
and in need of hot chocolate.

Two souls mixed
like ingredients in a blender,
stirred, mixed and shaken,
blended into something new,
spilled, just a puddle on the floor.

Poured from one vessel to another,
the flavors shared,
lips licking and tongues lapping,
experiences, transverse the divide,
a distance no longer, now bridged.

Free flowing emotions,
writhe, toss, turn and shift,
senses heightened and dulled,
dichotomies entertwining,
a drunken free for all,
trapped in a pistoning stimulant.

Smells and flavors scent the air,
spills drip here and there,
sticky reminders of,
how messy this can be,
cleaning it up, and relieving the memory.

Pupils burned,
retinas blown,
stared at you,
way too long.

Bullets flew as the music played,
Jason Aldean upon the stage,
the music stopped, chaos began,
screams and gunshots, people ran.

For ten minutes it rained death,
chaos ruled the aftermath,
the blood flowed and people died,
and all we can do is ask why?

Some blame the guns, others the man,
politicization, soon out of hand,
you can not legislate morality,
in a broken and divided society.

We say prayers for the injured,
and send condolences for the dead,
these are the matters at hand,
as rumors and hate swirl through the land.

Was this an Islamic plot,
some say yes, others not,
who knows what is the truth,
every media offers proof.

But their agenda isn't news,
don't know if I can believe their crews,
too many lies told on the page,
and from anchors on the stage.

From blood and bullets chaos reigned,
yet we learn nothing from the pain,
except to cast blame and divide,
the chasm opens ever wide.

With mental shears,
the ropes holding me back,
severed.

My new self,
blooms in the sun,
of a new day.

Watered by tears
of past wrongs,
converted.

Roots grow
in fertile soil,
as growth continues.

Future is mine,
going forward,
opportunities.

caressing winds blow
bluebonnets nodding in time
the morning's song plays

Some of us hunt,
some drink and chew,
there isn't much,
these boys can't do.

We can weld on metal,
we build with wood,
we try only to do,
the things that we should.

Our collar is blue,
skin bronze from the sun,
we work really hard,
and so is our fun.

During the day,
driving nails and screws,
fixing fences and feeders,
but Friday night barbecues.

The field needs plowing,
hay needs to be made,
a sandwich and tea,
at lunch in the shade.

Our collar is blue,
skin bronze from the sun,
we work really hard,
and so is our fun.

Our hands are hard,
our ethic is pure,
our women at night,
we know is the cure.

Dinner and drinks,
some hugging and kissing,
working all day,
but they're who we're missing.

Our collar is blue,
skin bronze from the sun,
we work really hard,
and so is our fun.

Rivers of thought upon the page,
some smooth like glass,
a few quick with faster flow,
others like rapids rough and choppy,
the dangerous ones fall off the precipice,
influencing others to do the same.

The government rarely solves a problem across the board,
usually, robs Peter to pay Paul and all of his hoard,
solutions for one are problems for others,
some feelings are hurt, creativity smothered.

Over and over, freedoms are taken,
can't say that here, safe spaces they're making,
appropriated cultures cause some folks to cry,
media manipulations for control in disguise.

There just is no stop to government growth,
they don't even pretend to uphold their oath,
royalty created where none was to be,
and they look down their noses at you and at me.

Promise us things they just can't complete,
dumb down our knowledge so we cannot compete,
simply print money, so it has no worth,
Julian Assange their secrets unearthed.

But we do nothing, just follow the herd,
lemmings to slaughter, they gave us their word,
to make it better, but for them not us,
completed their task with minimal fuss.

So just get ready, there is always more,
regulations aplenty to make us poor,
to take what we make for the greater good,
till we uprise and I wish we would.

Swirling universes stored in bottles,
the shelf sits dusty and undisturbed,
greasy smears of fingerprints,
on unidentified labels.

Shattered glass upon the floor,
where supernovas threw them,
illustrations of life and death,
contents evaporated, no trace.

I reach and pick one up,
like a snow globe, I turn it over,
the stars turn to comets, with glowing tails,
an entire existence turned upside down.

It’s the most important of the day
eat the fruit of the hens that lay
start with OJ, take a swig
how about the belly of a pig

Salted, smoked and sugar cured
pancakes with maple syrup poured
how about sausage seasoned with sage
it gets better with some age

Fried potatoes would be just fine
start the day great rise and shine
biscuits and gravy keeps you full
how about some apple juice, take a pull

Oatmeal, cream of wheat, malt-o-meal
the price is right what a steal
with butter and cinnamon what a treat
eggs benedict, you cannot beat

A loaded omelet is the best
especially with salsa from south west
tacos or burritos filled with the kitchen sink
wash it down with coffee to drink

Soup for breakfast, menudo's the one
top with Cilantro, will sell a ton
toast with Jelly, by the gram
so many flavors to choose of jam

Texas shaped waffles in the dawn
that’s one way to stifle a big yawn
up and at-em, was told by dad
was asleep, but won’t be sad

Cause its breakfast time

With my claw hammer
I pry out the label
releasing the love
that is trapped in side

I crack the hard shell
created by the
crassness of others
with lies and deceit

With a brush of my hand
and the press of my lips
I sweep away the remnants
and release the angel beneath

Stepping into the light
emotions renewed
ready to try love
with no labels

Outlined in tape on the floor,
the shape of a human heart,
blood stains and tears,
still, stain the ground.

The scene of a murdered love,
one left unscathed,
the other damaged, broken and bleeding,
unrepairable and inconsolable.

The ambulance lights, red and blue,
fade into the distance,
the siren growing softer,
and into the years.

Walking across bridges
creaking wooden planks,
suspension cabled steel,
or pedestaled concrete.

The sounds of waves crashing,
or the trickle of a mountain stream,
the roaring of a raging river,
or whistling wind down a hollow.

Jaw dropping heights
over muddy creek valleys,
or drainage ditches in the city,
simply paths to new places.

Decisions made,
changing locales,
the match is lit,
but never burn the bridge.

The campfire burns and the coals are glowing,
stories and laughter as the drinks are flowing,
Canadian Mist mixed with 7-up
or Dr. Pepper and Fireball fill up our cups.

Leaning back in our chairs, looking up at the sky,
seeing the stars and satellites fly by,
Pleiades, Orion, the Big Dipper and Taurus,
the coyotes starting a countryside chorus.

Shadows dance in the flickering light,
turn off the lantern, let's enjoy the night,
a moving red light darts through the trees,
the distant highway can be heard with the breeze.

Mesquite leaves crackle, as they burn up fast,
our time at the deer lease never seems to last,
one final hunt, and were done in the morning,
will be back for spring turkeys, this is their warning.

Steel rail sections of rusty brown
create a steady heart like beat,
as iron wheels travel quickly
over the girder bridge.

Pale naked trees stand still,
despite the metallic music,
a final autumn leaf falls to the ground
dislodged by the smoking train's whistle.

Oranges and ochres and touches of green,
paint the day with brushstrokes of fall,
anonymous passer-bys, notice nothing
in their shadowed silhouetted existence.

Flabbergasted FFA Fair,
dusty boots, but done up hair,
buckles gleaming in the sun,
showing is, so much fun.

Summer sweat dripping down,
pageant queen, wearing crown,
apple bottoms and popper tops,
so much to see, cannot stop.

Every age, and every size,
all of them vie for a prize,
grand champions and runners up,
like goddesses to worship.

Upon my dais, I must stand,
each construction brick a choice,
growing higher year by year,
with each decision and thoughts to voice.

There is no destiny, except the one we make,
there are no reasons we are here,
just a random bit of chance,
just take a look it's all quite clear.

So when you lay the mortar,
between decisions made,
will your building be secure,
with considered choices paid.

Or will it rock and twist,
with the blowing winds of change,
will it be square, cookie-cutter ticky-tack,
or will it be your own, secure but shaped quite strange.

You're the general contractor,
the platform of life you must build,
stand upon it proudly,
the power is yours to wield.

Saturday morning bus trips
through the land of antelope,
To casinos and alleys,
with a sense of hope,

With multicolored ***** unpacked,
and special shoes upon our feet,
Now has come the time
that we shall compete.

Ten pins lined up like soldiers, standing 60 feet away,
With them, it has now come time to play,
But before we start a ritual that spreads the chilling fogs
dogs, on me, dogs on three, 1-2-3, dogs.

With a swing of the arm and flick of the wrist, driving our thumb into the air,
The spinning ball heads down the lane, seemingly without care.
If we hit our mark, with timing and speed, nothing can stop it,
The roaring ball hooks, right into the pocket.

With pins spinning and bouncing nothing can still stand,
An X upon the scoreboard, just like we had planned,
And if for some reason, a pin or two is left standing there,
We will take aim and roll again, picking up a spare.

Two games down individually, but we are not done,
Time for some baker bowling fun.
7 of these for us, working as a team,
We knock down pins, like a well-oiled machine.

And at the end when we emerge we are victorious
Another tournament won isn't it glorious,
Thanks to all our coaches, and especially coach Ken,
We will miss him next year but will smile and think of him

Something just went bump !
Do I get up now and see
Covers over head

Bump again, rattle
Thump thump thump goes the door
Out of bed gun drawn

The door flies open
Broken jamb falls to the floor
Dark shadow there now

Shadow enters room
My gun up trigger fingered
Squeeze slowly or not

Shadow notices
Catches gleam of chrome
Turns and runs quickly

Cell phone gathered now
911 dialed answered
Shadow back at door

Shotgun barrel points
Pistol comes up in my hand
Trigger squeezed, bright flash

Shadow down on floor
Relief and strain roll through me
Police arrive then

Ordeal starts again
Questions and answers, photos
Righteous, castle safe

Ancient artifacts warehoused,
dilapidated memories of yore,
unsealed time capsules scattered,
as cardboard and tape give way.

Dusty tchotchke avalanches,
spill remembrances haphazard,
photos curl as chemicals expire,
recollected thoughts stored in pencil.

Edges of old diaries eaten,
rodents and roaches survive,
on forgotten verse and rhyme,
and feelings of love and loss.

Pages scatter like leaves
blown about by the wind,
as it passes through gaps
in roofs and plaster and lath.

Needed no more, exhaust rises,
excavation equipment and bulldozers,
push it all in a hole, under urban renewal.
sealing it forgotten, in a concrete topped grave.

The teeth bite in
as they spin
deeper and deeper
forever a keeper
locking into space
always snugged in place

The hole it leaves
never bleeds
just a hollow spot
doesn't even clot
it must be patched or filled in
if you feel the need to begin again

What am I?