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Mike Finney Dec 2012
These bristles twinge my hide,
For a second I worry of looking a poor shave.
I chuckle;
No one to impress now, silly.

I look down,
For a second I worry of looking a poor dress.
I chuckle;
Chairs aren't meant for standing,

                                                      ­                                                 I'll fix that,  love.
Mike Finney Nov 2012
The river that flows from the depths of your soul;
It touches my hand in a sting of rain.
There is pain there, yes
In your waters.

A child afraid of the dark is in your eyes;
She looks through and sees nothing.
I am here, yes
A midst your waters.

The river brings cold to my being:
Lest I stay I die,
You breathe my life,
If I surrender I Drown,
and breathe no more.

I fear I am a blur to you now,
as the rain stings your eyes.
Your gaze eroded by water
Your gaze so cold and hollow

Promise you'll find a flame,
in the face of your flooding apathy

For not we grow cold and die.

and the river that flows from the depths of your soul,
shall take us dark and cold,
to sleep.
Mike Finney Oct 2012
I braced my feet;  knees light,
And the lord said:  You shall not fly.

I firmed my earth;  legs tight,
And the lord said:  You shall not run.

I took my stride; afraid in blight,
And the lord said: You shall not go.

"Why?!" I begged.  "Why do others go while I stay?"
And the lord said:
Mike Finney Sep 2012
There are words

So many words

That take much more of life
With them
As they pass

One more piece of the puzzle I could have kept
Had you just
used them.

I have given you all I can
To see your eyes
Blossom
Like old
Roses. A lot of rocks
The floor under
A sky of filth

But I am starved for words
I have dried


Watering a rock that will never
grow


They are gone
So gone
Mike Finney Apr 2012
I often sit here and run my hands over the smooth shard of glass
that portrudes from my chest.
I feel it.  Everyday.  Everynight.
and wonder if someday i could yank it loose.
feel the pinch no more;
The pain of my heart as it warbles, trying to survive; cut in half.
I know i must keep one eye on the horizon, for hope ill see that day approach

If i look down, I know through this glass ill see you,
all that can be seen,
struck through my being,
and my chin will fall,
and my breath will shallow,
and my heart will
stop.

for you, in my head,
live
and all i feel,
all
is you
Mike Finney Jan 2012
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                            U N T I L  M Y                                                                ­                 I n  t h e
                  W O R L D  I S  L E F T  I N                                                                ­   h a n d s  o f
             S H A M B L E S    S P L I T  U P                                                        a  d I s e a s e  c a l l e d
                    A N D  A L I E N A T E D                                                                ­         G r e e d
Mike Finney Jan 2012
A Man will ask himself:

Is the glass taken of half

Or given of it?


We hear this tale

Unworn and aged

(Like a fine wine

Save a rich cheese

Always a decadence

An adornment so sweet.

Fruits that our mother

Blesses us with)

and look into the crystal

Search for grace

We think comes from

Wonders of the light.

But man’s feeble mind

Is so beguiled

(Hoodwinked into

Vizard

By the lures

Of such a beautiful thing

As crystal.)

And rapt with greed.


So much brawn

Is put to

Pondering the

Substance

Of the vessel

(such thought

That manifests itself

In a disease

More blood ridden

Than a

Plague)

in materialism

(the silent

Murderer

That infects the

Mind of a

worldly soul)

and has no cure

To emerge from

A field of

Medical travesty.


When all has

Passed

And man answers

for his sins,

One will in the end

Discover

the question

That never works it’s way

To the lips

(If not even

Figments of thought

In words)

What have you to say
About the fill
Of a glass
When it has
Shattered
Upon the floor?
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