In this bungalow bathed with mud and leaves
Moss seeps through fissures in the walls
Sprawling vinery rips through paint beneath.
As my headdress rusts on the window sill
I glance to hush its last scorning glares
Hidden in this hammock, outlining my fears.
This sunken land fails evermore
How steady the brick counts its last dusk
How many more days to tend to them?
Old tapestry hanging above untucks,
Undone by the collapsing roof.
Leave me here a bloodied man, squashed by rock.
Limping, gushing, dripping in my demise.

as a slung hammock
the moon was positioned
in last night's gloaming

It was a warm June night
Swaying between two trees
You laid your head on my chest
The leaves whispered its sweet breeze
The lantern was set to low
While we read about that giant peach
Fireflies giving us a show
The AC shut off with a screech
You lifted your tiny head
Do you remember what you asked me?

Why do we never see mommy anymore?

Instead of telling you about the horror of drugs
I told you about the peace in death.

We hang in the void
between two ancient beings,
their skin grey and cracking,
their arms stretching high.

We take in the moments
and count them like tree rings,
our hearts soaring freely
as birds in the sky.

What a beautiful day
Nice breeze right off the bay
The Hammock swaying
Birds chirping and playing
The sun bright and sunny
Ice tea with a little bit of honey
A patch of daisies so yellow
Could this day be anymore mellow
Deep breathes of fresh air
This feeling of balance is rare

I string up my hammock for two,
and lay in it alone,
listening to the trees whisper to one another.
How I long to hear their songs
and giggle to their stories
of centuries past and times forgotten.
The wind rocks me close to her *****
while the sun shines down on the children
hoping from flower to flower and between blades of grass.
But my eyes grow heavy, and I struggle to stay.
Then I hear them,
laughingly say,
rest now child;
all is well.