They dragged me
screaming
down the highway
to their sacred hell.
My torture was a whisper
to their grinning
over fires
that fester.

Nothing in nature
can rewind:
naught but the hand
of God.

Upon retaking my first
steps
anew
I mounted the struggle.
Peace my birthright.
Truth my shield.
Bold conviction
became shaking steps
ascending
the stairway
to heaven.

With my folly transparent,
I witnessed
the cackles and claws
of the demons
to be mine own whip.

I set down the weapon.
I let the ashes of despair consume it.
I do not look back,
for the stairway is its own guide.

Bittersweet is the rasp of envy,
and gratitude: the beckoning of peace.

Aligned with all plain and normal
And love is a way of regression
'Tis your season to be frugal
For once we'll teach youth a lesson.

I want her to rise up again
like when she lifted her blue
skirt looking at how brown
I am taking off my shirt
and there are somethings
you learn if you were born
on a farm where I watched
her shadow in the middle
of the night overlooking mine
in the dark where we hid
from the light listening
to the wind, that sad poet
of the unknown pulling back
the dead eyes of those singing
sweet songs in the long night.

Tension at a turn
Tension at the graded curve
At the waters surface , inside
a minuscule world , at the first hello
and the final goodbye , at the flowers
sunlit birth , at the glorious final flight from earth
Crying for more , crying with good reason
Crying for recognition , crying for peace and evolution
Secret society and secret handshakes , secret recipes
for secret cakes , secret love and secret hideaways
Secret gardens , secret mistakes* ..

Today warblers race with yellow butterflies
Shiny Pin Oak leaves reflect skyward , puffy -
clouds shaped like a dragon , an Indian Chief ,
a diving dolphin , songbirds in melodious -
conversation , Fall puffs of air bring the smell -
of barbecue and burning leaves , Apple Cider -
memories and nut laden Pecan Trees
Where clothes are still hung out to dry , where old -
movies still make the ladies cry , where men are -
'occupied with their occupation' , where farmers are -
in tune with their beloved nation* ..

All strung
out
       on
sadness,
empty shells
of needles
      that injected
the next defense
      to keep me going
splayed upon
the coldness
            of metal
somewhere in a place
lower than
the floorboards
of the nether regions
of a private hell,
where no one sees
      the truth behind
the doors of
           beaten swords
of silken pictures
in frothy shades
of effervescent green
a smiling happy family
in which the
sounds of drowning
can only be
             vaguely heard
a faded gurgle
       in an ocean of sighs

Somewhere, there,
the pain in my veins
spreads like
a self-administered
                       drug
only it's not
my prescription, at all
just a parody
from the very
    sick doctor
who shares
          this house,
meant to
be a home
one who thinks
he knows it all
but knows nothing

In this dreamlike weaving
of staring blankly
into alternative spaces
when all is so heavy
that even breathing is a task
I suddenly remember
   who the **** I am
and push my gaze through
the ceiling cracks
to look up at
         the stars,
receiving their
            shadows
           of light
      like a blessing
   upon my
   nettle-stung
    tongue
and
       rise