a sentry guard laments the day his mother went out for milk
a cool mist slowly approaches him and begins licking his boots unaware that his pinky toe is peeking out of his sock begging for a taste of the blistering wind

he stands at attention
a noice emanates from the woods at his fifteen hundred
he totes his gun on his right shoulder and begins the approach
the noise somewhere between shriek and shrill leads him to a clearing in the woods where he sees a man of not more than forty years of age speckled stubble upon his face
walking around in circles with stick in the ground

he's got that look in his eye
a mutter a conversation a yell
a symphony

of sound

peonies for the poor folk a bushel of roses for the dead dandelions for the prayers speckled as dust crackled as wood he who seeks fortune shall make do with crumbs fire overhead a love overheard this time there's no way out we litter the past we litter the waters we litter whatever is left of our hollowed grounds

if only mother knew
if only mother knew

the sentry stands at attention

he brings his rifle down from his shoulder and raises it to his face

ah yes


the garble

Dyslexia, mixed messages
Everything so confusing
Susceptible to misusing;
A 'B' becomes a 'D' instantaneously
And screws things up simultaneously.

A short trip from insanity to inanity.
Fiscal confuses with physical
Turning laudable into laughable
So quickly eyes can't disguise
Whether one means the skies
Or perhaps one means this guy's.

If read, confusion and contusion
Seem like quibbling over siblings
But things like read and read
Only different when they're said
Take un-signalled turns in the head
And instead come out backward,
Which should be spelled backword.

Muddling and confuddling resides
Issuing thundering broadsides,
Rendering and sundering any
Blundering inadept ineptitudes
Like some kind of garbled beatitudes.
Some take hostile attitudes.

Wheedling and wheeling away
Beetling and saying it wrong;
Maybe a song can be written
And some tongues can be bitten,
Taken aback by words taken back,
As the Raven said "Never more!"

Costume clowns
And closet clones
Clutter up my world.
Simulated simians,
Both boys and girls,
Ricochet like rifle shots
In the hallways of my dreams.
Honeyed hectoring
Always more than it seems.

Missing messages
And mumbled grumbling,
I find it quite humbling
That my rhetoric is glistening
To discover nobody is listening.
But be assured, at its root
Disdain will not make me mute.

Despite the confusion
Created by collusion,
And the babble of rabble
That grapple inside my brain
What will remain after
This noisy war is done,
It will definitely be won.
The race will be run
Because I am number one!