Woken by a pain, I should no longer feel,
still nursing old wounds, that refuse to heal.
And in the cold, dim light of day,
I know I'll always, feel this way.
But thought I try, I can't make things right,
I still miss my angel, every night.

I am done being used

They go on to love
Love the skin
That is not theirs.
Love the
Slumbering Curls
Of frail
Hair.
Splattered freckles across
Shoulders and chests.
The Market is grudgingly open.
Transactions take
Place without the
Clerk behind the register.
Reaching into the depths of the freezer
Returning with the
Morning ****.
They love
Merely because
They want to eat.

Yesterday’s integrity is lost
To the shrewd entry of today,
With all its hopeful blandness
Sinking into my skin as the sun rises
Ever so gently along the broken horizon
Where vultures escape the peril
Of the murderous day and hide in caves-
Away from the hungry pecking of
So many people in too many places,
As the sky seeks to triangulate
The presence of time within the confined space
Of the undynamic maze of man
As he moves gallingly through the elements
Past my drowsy numbness in the early hours
Magnetized into the dull thumping
Rhythms of action we all anticipate;
Estimating concepts I could never
For the life of me, regurgitate.