Where's the heroism
In the folds of sheets
Tubes and wires' maze
Pads, sheaves of gauze
Rhythmic beating bleats
Of a mechanism

A last hope stand-in heart
Running on AC,
Chest grotesquely heaved
Each breath achieved
Like death's ecstasy
Young actor played his part

Defending hollow honor
On familiar streets
As if he had to
Live the credo
It's first love life cheats
Son won't mourn his mother

Autumn leaves chased after
One another
Spinning pirouettes like
Children at play
Rustling in gentle laughter.
I stifled a cry
To call them aside
Stand clear from harm's way
"Rest with me amid
Short grass and mud"
I thought I should say
Then, these days,
Their days,
Have number, too
So I stood quietly by,
Lived their joy
As they hopped and flew
'Till speeder's wake,
A blind, uncaring rake,
Swept them all away

Did I care then, were they
Real, those stories
About some other
I talked about,
Though hardly knew.
Saying aloud
"What a shame,
She was so young,"
Shook head
No feeling, really,
A window shopper.
Was it wife or mother
Touched, too, who
Finally made real
Life-choking fear,
Overwhelming dread of
Deathly growth
That was of them.
Proclaiming love through tears,
I cried all the long ride
To claim she that bore me
While at home new bride,
Yesterday learning
Sleep amidst my snores,
Burned, cold poison
Now swimming
In bruised veins
Free spirit aging
Before my eyes
All life lost childish gloss,
The delightful lightness
Youth should be allowed,
And I cursed God
How dare You, we were so young.

Psychotic break stole
Sound mind with a dream
Escaped from the hole
Left by heart's loss.
Paste and paper seams
Meant to give gloss
To facades distressed
Unravel in time
And a life, no less,
Is bound to come loose
When built on old lies.
Lost to reality
In a new delusion
I watched a poor fool,
Arms flapping wildly
Certain they were afire
Set to flame by the embers
Of that brazier
Lit a life time ago,
Left hidden in past
Still aglow,
Time's slow drip
Yet unable
To put the coals to rest.
From poets,
Madman learns,
Salving fresh burns
With quenching words,
Delighting in their
Cooling flow,
A newfound remedy
For a primal malady.
Babbling in swatches,
Speaking of things
That aren't there
But maybe were.
Then lighting more matches,
Lest the glow extinguish
Its delirious illusions
Ease smoldering anguish,
But leave the room too cold

I AM a monster.
The boy dropped
At my feet
My first thought -
"Could have been me
Who got popped"
I am a monster,
Left him there
At the foot of the stair
Out the side door
To the car before
Cops blocked the drive
I am a monster
Never asked why
Or did he survive
Kept it all in
And smiled at dinner
"More mashed, dear?"
I am the monster
Who lived life in lies
Thinks of his own
Perfect, lovely son
Hides away and cries
It could have been him

Storms still fly inside,
Dark nights haunt
Alight only in
October's looming moon.
Promises, expectations
Longings -
Long ago
The lies
Became my lives
Made real
By masks worn to hide
The holes left behind
What should have been.
Buoyed in desperate, pathetic
Hopes that some ethereal strand
Still exists to connect
Like timeless stars we see at night
Can forever link
One to a lover
Despite distance.
If you'd just look up,
See what I see, too
We could be one
Again, then.

Where the devil if not here
In the room with me.
Surprised
In the kitchen
I slide
The chef's knife
Far back on the counter
To hide
Lest she loose control lost
Again, else
Might become real, that image
Now swimming
In her own soup,
Of a chromium-vanadium blade
Gleaming, swinging
In glorious swoop
Home to this chest or head,
Imagining it dead,
Tainted crimson.
Not the first time
I could be a toreador
Fending off his bull
With nearby chair
To save flesh from the goring
Of its horns,
On the way to salvation
At the door.
Still, animal rage
Stands between instrument
And shields awaiting at table
As they are meant.
A lamb, I once used my hand
And it hurt
When steel first broke skin.
Tears weren't
First from pain, but shock
Life was so real and cruel.
Since then the whys
Have grown with our lives.
One or other medication
Will fail to stop the sensation.
Now, my life's exhaustion is
In pondering the question:
Can the coward present neck
As easy offering and end it,
Or continue cowardice,
Facing  the goddess
Conspired to destroy
What once was me.