Eyelids like shades,
instantaneous wiper blades
clear the tears.

There are no grapes on the paths of wrath
just bitter fruits,
no Jezebel to tell me tales
no Jonah,
no Charlies
no Prince of Wales,
only wines that are corked by the forked tongues of men.

In this look back I took back and re inherited my loss
preferring the loss to the symbolic gain where the pain is still real and the knives are as keen and the wind blows as sharp.
While cherubs play harps, I play Russian roulette, one morning I'll get the right combination of chamber and hammer and boom.

Eyelids like shades
set in soft glades filled with sunshine and
bright lines of daffodils that march through
the mornings always
fill me with hope.