Today, my country  
  shows off,  It's "freedom""
   winning might.
While people seeking
   that freedom
     hide in fright.
Our brave troops,
   will march
   tanks, will break
      the roads,
jets and bombers,
   will fly.
While, world wide
   funds are cut,
     sick, and
       hungry die.
Politicians, will salute,
    grandstand, and cheer!
Tomorrow, V.A. funding,
  for the, sick,
   and wounded,
    not so clear.
Happy "250" to all
present and past
   for your sacrifice.
    to the "American
      Ideal."
One more task,
   we "appeal"
Make it fast, your
     "President"
  has a "spur" in
      his "heel."

Shattered illusions.
Shattered hopes.
Shattered dreams.

A house with no structure
built from the remains of ruin.

A powerful soul
in a trembling body.

A house meant to fall.
A house that realized
it’s not a house at all -
just the memory of shelter
pretending to hold.

It asks,
"Then what am I?"

But no one answers.

And so,
what’s left
sinks into the soil,
quietly turning
back into earth.

When there is nothing left to say
And you don't know what to pray--
God knows what's in your heart,
The Spirit did He impart.

Tonight, I lie in bed and
scribble in a black spiral
notebook.
Why is cruelty easy for
some? Like laying down
a card.

One of my three cats,
Mojo
sits sleepily on
my old maple desk.
She is all black.
The computer screen is
black.
So are the speakers,
microphone,
and a coffee cup that
sits on the desk.

Above my dresser is a
quote by Hemingway.

"There is nothing to writing.
All you have to do is sit down
at a typewriter and bleed."

It's on black paper.

I've had the room set up
this way for over a year.
I'm just noticing all the
blackness.
Midnight in Nod.
It could be because I miss
my daughter.  She's seven.
All the black fades away when
I think about her smile
and those eyes that laugh at the
rain.

I notice that my shirt
is emerald green, with a
few drops of red.

Plop
Plop

Plop.