A Time

Dense fog masks the night
Hides the things out there
certain things can slice
but nothing can vanquish
Car lights pierce
the beams illuminate
a large area
only ahead is seen
short, cropped distance
water particles muffling sparks
I long for the dim warmth
out of the frigid breath
it sings of deep regret
not mine-- his.
Then appearance excites
and flecks dance
and grow
but wilt with the dew
soon the limits materialize
black as it should be
Frogs know
maybe as we
why is the bond broken?
cuts our tongue
man can't ask.
Sept. 1994

Without Salty Bottlecaps

My land is the heaven of cucumbers
the dog tracks follow the sunshine
and coffee is boiling on my pontoon.

I cried with my selfish goldfish yesterday
afterwards the wallpaper was green
but I didn't mind.

I choked on her bubbles
popping them with pineneedles
and I painted my fake grapes blue.

My land stops at the Kool-aid stand
I watch it carefully
my eyes hear the wind chimes
as the worms light my candles
and I drink from my paper cup.

The Bridge

I'm running
faster, faster
the cold, frigid wind
cutting my throat
stripping the skin from
my cheeks
I feel the strap of
my bag slipping,
sliding from my shoulder.
I snatch for it
but it falls.
It's gone.
I want to look
back.
I want to at least
see my only belongings
fade into the distance
but I don't,
I can't.
The burning cold wind
slices through my lungs
but I don't look back.
The dark is closing in
pulling away my senses
the loss of sight sucking
my hearing and feeling and taste
...and smell.
But the smell of charred
bones still in my nose.
I see a bridge in the
distance.
It looms high above
but strangely seems
small, insignificant.
And my flight takes
me to it.
Under its cold blanket
I cover myself in
wet leaves,
my protection.
And sleep for the night
to dream of the
lights, the smoke,
the dogs, and the
screams.

A Different View

Green
Everywhere,
Dirt
Below,
A blade of grass shelters,
Splash!
A drop of water is now a pool,
Swish-
the orange leaf
alone on the bare autumn tree
finally gives up and
Floats to the ground,
It becomes a house,
Soon winter will
come and
the ladybug's home
will be the rotten log
by the tree.

Lost

Search for the solution
but can't remember the problem
the wisps of memory float by.
Hope is swallowed by despair
and dreams swirl into fantasies
never to come true
cheeks wet
with the results of emotion
eyes hidden from view
And the crumpled letters
that once meant living
slowly die forgotten in the bottom
of the drawer.

Home

Muffled cries fade into silence,
an occasional whimper
breaks the peace.
The darkness closes slowly
around the child
curled in the corner
clutching her knees.

On the sofa lies her mother
passed out cold
with no regret,
punishment issued mercilessly
when drunken expectations
had not been met.

At school the next day
she bears a bandage
to mask the result
of broken home,
searches for someone
to feel her sorrow.
Why must she feel so alone?

She has no choice,
another secret
must be kept
within her heart.
She watches from
the outside as
within she's torn apart.