Plump ripe fruit
taken from the vine with a bit of guilt
is it better to turn her into pie
or let it rot and wilt?
I am unnaturally and unnecessarily human
made of sugar and spice
surely this berry would be of more use
fallen on the floor with the bugs and the mice.

As those angels gently laid you back
Speaking sweetly as you went
A rivulet o crimson
Was the sign that you were spent
I stood at your beds foot
Too overwhelmed to cry
A refusal to believe
A rejection of this lie

A fast three months that felt like six
A switchback through the gloamin
And all the time
We knew of course
The reaper was a roamin
Winding low
Checking his form
By the light of his terrible lamp
Waiting to bring down
His final ghastly stamp

So I'll think of you often
And I'll send love with this
On September the 19th
About a quarter past six.

The person I was is slowly fading
I tell no one, so no one can be aiding

My mind shatters like an atom smasher
My heart and breathing are going faster

Take a pill and make it better
Or sit right down and write a letter

What I say is written in a panic
I feel me stepping up to manic

He’s so upset, and his eyes say
“Did you have a really bad day?”

Toys are brought, 3 in all
“Grandma will you throw the ball?”

“Playing fetch will make you happy.”
I know. the dog is very sappy

I cannot ignore the plea
It’s the eyes, it gets to me

So outside we go to play
You KNOW, I feel better today

Maybe my poems
have fallen on deaf ears
to a point
where
they lost
their
voice

Lungs are His cathedrals, on this night A
Boeing 737-7 cuts a spotlight
between twilight and dream
Gods breath carving alveoli with a 10:35 flight across rib bone
and destiny
It is the curse of existence, trajectory
Neither sleep nor sunrise will stabilize me

The room ticks like a cooling engine
In a blue motel on the edge of Apache.
A tranquil night of drunks and televisions.
Poly-neon signs and road closures.
Up the road apiece, just north of nowhere,
Past the graves of Grandma and Grandpop,
There’s a place that has no business being there,
A place of cisterns and honeycombs.
A wheel in the desert, the moon on some swings.
                               🌙
            September 02 2024