Would you know my gait
if merely my words parade,
while everything else lay hid?

Perhaps, should you have shared
in my thought and conversation;
maybe your soul would recall-

once, some time ago, I know
we rode our waves back to shore.*



_ _ __✒
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•

even after season upon season
of changing jobs and habitations
in different states and even nations

we can look at objects that trigger
a sense of connective familiarity;
but on any other given day they're

just stuff, things that fill our lives;
for instance that bottle of clairol
or bar of dove, that tube of colgate

exact same products at granny's house;
shapes, smells, and sounds surround us,
a nest, perfectly built: dry, warm & sturdy*




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•

thou hast waxed sarcastic
to mock and disrespect the
misfortunes of another's need
whether male or female
of varied colour and creed

why dost thou behave unseemly
become as a clanging cymbal
blustering as sounding brass?
kindle again, first love's flame
before it's too late, unsweet charity

it has been said that poetry
is the straight and narrow road
to a woman's heart of hearts;

        but alas, for me

              it has been the escape pod
from that woman who once,
but no longer, has regard for me*





_ _ __✒
●○
°

unapologetical apologetics:
what is denounced vocally and
many rave as condemnatory
is actually deep conviction being

militantly denied from an
internal admission of culpability
--external bluster of one in grave
delusionally grand denial*




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•

people these days
are our solitary
point of reference

unless we're old enough
to recall 'back in the day'
to compare smoke signals

with mobile signals; well
most of us can't even
speak or 'read' Morse.*



_ _ __✒
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•