Words mean what they mean, I ask?
But, ah, they can be nuanced or veiled.
They can be soft as cotton, feather-light,
Or hit like the proverbial ton of bricks
Dead on the nail head hammering
Their impact home.  That's the power
Of the weight of words.  Weigh them carefully.

the slow slide
down from the stars above. love,

it leaves so fast,
grows so quickly cold.

she had looked into the shark's dead eyes
and found the friend
that waits in silent shadows

that draw the dying
inside themselves and into

the lone, solitary ring
of the cold church bells song.

Sylvia stared with dead eyes
and rode the white horse of death into the fire.

summer's last full moon:
     aloneness, a grassy hill,
          crickets, black & white

I cried
yesterday

and what little
was buried inside

got out—

spilled all over
the floor,

flooding the walls,
the windows,
and the doors,
dripping from tables,
chairs,
and pillows

at my feet.

And how I stood
there in silence,

hearing the clock
tick and talk,

waiting for
someone—
anyone—

to come and
save me.

It's only been
thirty years.

Father God
Doesn't spare the rod
Or spoil
Any boi or goil.

Saint Paul
Was honest about what he was like when he was Saul,
And he was like a devil
Doing evil.