I'm seated across from my stomachache.
The diner mutates into a morgue.
The tables are gurneys with checkerboard shrouds.
Is this conversation  -  or autopsy?

I explore an intriguing potential corpse
-unflinching under my lancet eyes
-numb as my curious scalpel pries
as I try to dissect what this means to me.

It might mean a great deal
(perhaps too much).

With delicate pressure cracks appear
STOP!
Questions cause fragile things to break...

Relationships all die premature deaths.
I am maladroit when I handle hearts.
Then I wait for the last breath,
"Let's keep in touch,"
and watch as my wounded friend departs,
sanguine about the mess I've made
of my latest stab at intimacy
when I dropped my guard like a flensing blade
and opened myself up  as well.
Mistake!

God took mud or dust from earth.
Such was the stuff of original birth:
By the breath of His Spirit He giveth.

God assumed flesh and entered in
that a new nativity might begin...
By the death of His Son we liveth.

This flesh would fly,
this crawling creature climb
  if not for unseen strings
  (tethered as we are by time)
  and want of wings.
So it is we knot a noose
  in rotten rope
On blended bough
  we hang our hope.
Heaven seems much nearer now.
This soul could soar.
The staring eye in silent sky
   watches dreams die.
Falling's what the flight is for.

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One ought admire the noble eagle
with cruel beak
and vicious talon,
whose piercing unrelenting gaze
never fails to locate meat;
whose feathered blades
  are shaped to slice
  through wind
  of carve a breeze
  with gliding grace
  -unless of course
   one is the hare.
You are the hare.
Your hare tongue begs
your hopping gods
for luck
and strength of leg
plus hiding place.

Not to see you again would be tough to bear
but I would understand
cruel as my words were
inexplicable as my words were
unforgivable as my words were.
To see you again would be uncomfortable.
When will I see you again?

Remembering you makes amnesia appealing.
There's no anesthetic for what I am feeling,
you high-heeled, cheating, cheap, double-dealing...
I'm rabid with rancor
doggone it.

You're only honest when you're not talking.
I'd rather get jiggy with Stephen Hawking
so don't come knocking if you need focking
Put THAT killer bee in your bonnet!

I wouldn't help you change a flat tire.
I wouldn't *** on you if you caught fire.
If you jumped off a building I'd wish it was higher.
Your photograph has my spit on it.

You're much less attractive than Nancy Grace
(who's an ugly slug with a monkey-**** face...)
I hope you're abducted to outer space!
I've got one more shot...
Do you wannit?

Do I feel angry and hostile?  You bet!
I've become bitter as bitter can get!
But, baby, you haven't heard anything yet...
Wait 'til I write my next sonnet!