we stood tall;
free and unabridged
a testament to our youths

but when they called us down
we stayed standing
our height shrunk
wrinkles worn on torn porcelain
a graying of old stone

we grew fatter off decadent fruit
while caged animal fed on imprisoned others
and the minority was culled to a head
in internment camps
in privatized prisons
in the courts
and the legislator's building
in the very creation of the nation
stillborn at conception
an aborted fetus carried to term
delivered, to be chucked to the wayside
weened off the milk of a tormenting yearn
to make, to build, to think, and learn
but we stifle that now
in favor of rockets to fly
leaning toward oil to burn
will there be a scream when we die
or will this silence hold firm?

I told you I would find you a spring poem
filling your mind with the smell of daffodils
the worded anticipation of warmer, saturated.

But poems about spring feel tacky tonight
like a valentines day chocolate that melted
in my back pocket where your hand fits

They reverb a softness that
my tired eyes can’t grapple to focus.
I’m trying but spring means that

My year has been swallowed before me.
The only use I see for these budding sakura
are for peppering that grief with scorn.

Perhaps I will sleep it off. But then,
perhaps cynicism in the face of ******
beauty, is my becoming a poet.

Everything may end,
The unknown knows.
All you dread.

You are held aloft.
Seeing the events.
Quiet and tense.

The storm builds,
Thunder softly stirs.
Shy away.

Come down,
Touch the earth.
Unbearing suspense.

Your breath is taken,
You are made blind.
Speech is numbed.

Hide from all,
Seek none.
Hear no-one.