the cowboy slowly enters town riding high on his horse
the town had no name, he just knew he would find what he was after
townsfolk seemed to stop in time and stare at his rugged face
the desert had stolen his youth and good looks
he was a renegade cowboy looking for what seemed, a friendly face
not sure this town had such a person
this town was not real
this town was a ghost
these folks were in the wind waiting for departure into the next
he had found Middletown
was he real, was his horse real, where is he
he thought he knew

Brian Hill - 2020 # 281

O to be prejudice between the visible
and invisible Baha'u'llah.
When moving out of nature becomes moving by the Will.
Therefore, divinity becomes a shuffling of
the attention away from all things, words, senses,
forms, and starts to receive instructions from
the personages that visit me.
She stared at me as if I was the sole
expression of her day,
tossed the blouse covering her beauty.
Her waist was perfect and made
mine perfect while sitting.
She caught sight of Baha'u'llah,
and her spirit dispersed.
Angels of Prophets parted ways,
by means of Names.
He unfolds a general saying
to tell me of His hidden power.
That woman, Rey, of the Force
looks at me with tears in her eyes.
Baha'u'llah always leaves me
to have no sign or description
of the divine.
He came and left, and though seen and felt, left no remaining
evidence
of His
Self.

one that is not my own
one a skin I no longer fit
one all my own but older
one new and fresh faced
one that no one ever knows
a list so long I could never find me
a list of them extending beyond all

I wish I could call
Everyone beautiful
there is dignity
in a simple thing like names
SOME PEOPLE DON'T DESERVE THEM?

I still felt their hands
Upon my skin
Their names tattooed
Upon my tongue
And my love life
Flash art
Plastered in peripheral gaze
Each man
Holding a tattoo gun, waiting
To tease at my skin
I heard it in the morning
Instead of the birds
My body, a canvas
Possessed by each man
That whispered I love you
In my ear in error

****, when did we get like this
Seems like everyday we add few more names to the list
The innocent don't stay alive
The children are desensitized
And to be honest I'm scared I'm the next one that they'll hit
I need a bit of love
Need a little trust
Need some love
Lotta love right now
There's been pain from the start
Lotta pain in my heart
Need to change but I don't know how

My name; to be loved.
By two gentle arms and hands.
Uncovering the New.

I hate the saying, "Baby's Mama."
It's so ******. As I drifted off to
sleep last night, crocked on a plethora of
pills, and the remnants of *****, I thought
to myself, She's a little bluebird that
burrowed in my heart.
I laughed and slobbered, and drifted
into the warm fuzzy black.

She's intuitive, she asked me to let
the nurse know that her and the kids were
coming so that there would be a smooth
transition with staff. Hospitals can be
peculiar when it comes to visitation with children.

So she asked me how I wanted to refer to her.
She's the Mother of my 2-year old
daughter, and she has a 10-year old boy
that I have been around for 6 years.
He's like my own son, but 'technically,  he's not.
I don't want to offend anyone. It's all so
******* complicated. I could say, "This is Bonnie,
I'm Clyde, and this is our gang." They probably
wouldn't laugh. I feel very comfortable saying,
"These are our kids, and this is their Mom"

If the kids weren't in ear-shot and I felt
like a rapscallion, I might say,"This is a woman
that I used to love and **** a lot! Finally we had
our daughter- WOW- AMAZING! ! !
The boy came along before I met her, but I love him
like my own son- always and forever."

Anyway, this is my daughter, and my son, and a woman that I used to
love and **** a lot, also, a fantastic Mother, and when
I'm twacked out d-toxing- drifting off to sleep, and
laughing about what to call her, I might just call her
my little bluebird, that burrows in my heart.