Monday, June 1, 2020


Poem #14

You say my poems are all so dark,
Devoid of light or hope or positivity.
But it's a transactional world,
Cold, cashless, stark,
At best a cool reciprocity.

Ok, I’ll try again.
I’ll remove that metaphor 
And show you my son.
Instead of a rhyme 
I’ll peel this orange
And take my damn time.

The juice that squirts you in the eye
Could have been avoided
With a much closer reading.
That citric sere is the same pain
Of looking up at a solar eclipse.

I can strip it all down,
Naked and raw and bare.
No more showing the wind
By the tremoring of leaves in the trees.
That thing you know as breeze
Is just the ever present 
Stillness that kneels for prayer.

I'm trying to soften the edges
Of directness so it doesn't hurt.
Watch yourself!
When it stops being a poem
It reverts to the original seed
That I’ll plant any damn place I please.


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