Old ghosts are chasing me through the dark.
I thought eighteen years was enough.

I need to be free.

There is an old ghost
In the back of your mouth.
The death rattle of silver, screaming
Let me out!

There is a darkness
Deep in the ground.
An old town with a
Sad new secret now.

I know we’ll never have it all,
But it’s enough for me.
And I know we’ll never have it all worked out,
But we’ll figure it out as we go.

Silver Beach: Always the Sole First

familiar white fishing boat, up with early light,
seeking sustenance and pleasure in = measure,
anchored ‘bout quarter mile east of my under-the-coverlet,
(of course! as the crow, raven or scavenging osprey flies),
it’s precise location amazingly exact, but alas, soon daily
familiarity breeds no secrecy, and now joined by a
farther out, smaller version, a compatriot in spotitude,
of the best spots for harvesting the early running
brackish bay water favorites, striped or black sea bass

what persistent fortitude these fisher-peoples display,
early to rise, first to depart, when others crowd its “spot,”
(amazed by its knowing precision the exactitude of “spot”)
this ship, always the sole-first, invokes a first poem of the day,
always a soul-first, an unburdening of deepest gratitude that
one more day granted me to imbibe this vista, awake to its
soothing silent heavenly serenity, absent machine or
electronic interference with my delicate sleepy wakefulness,
when newly minted words come into my mind, my
secret spot



Sat AM June 3

A gaze.
A silver line between
love
and terror.
A silver line of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.

A gaze,
too afraid to gaze
lest we acquaint ourselves
with gold
or bronze.
Too egocentric,
too self defeating.
A silver line of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.

A silver safety belt,
clip the lines,
halt the grinds,
lest we acquaint ourselves
with loving gold,
or terrifying bronze.
Lest we stray
from the silver line,
the safety belt,
of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.

Lest we stray,
forever shall we stay.
A silver gaze,
humdrum days.
Neither here, nor there,
forever
and perpetually,
'ere'.
A gaze.

On darkest nights, when full moons preside
Silver bullets are just the thing
When the howls are coming from inside
Silence with silver, gunshot ring

Gold grows tarnished and fractured, such fragile prizes
And bronze knights are forgotten soon as the sun rises
Leave nothing to mock, nothing to pilfer
Paint the walls cerebral and silver