Indivisible

Prolonged agony
Cemented in foundations
Of nations
Marking in blood
Every lie that degrades
Dehumanizes
The Abels we have caned.

Twilight Concert

The midnight blue Gretsch

Held in delicate but calloused fingers

Mirrors your hourglass shape

But in a grotesque Picasso-esque

Exaggeration of the hips

Hips that could never slide

In or out of the Skinny Jeans

Suffocating your legs

Soaking up spot lights’ heat

Which is washed away by the cool

Summer breeze that plays with your hair

The way you play the strings 

Samoan Ink

amidst the slums

of a technological wasteland

an antique store clings

to a Main Street 

that is no longer Main Stream.

subtly fighting for affection

between the samoan tattoo

and vacuum repair parlors.

Francis of Assisi

Consumed by a thought,
You took poverty to wife
Inheriting her dowry
Of want and ignorance.
Spikes of conviction
Nailing your hands 
To a cross of loneliness 
In pursuit of the divine.

Whiffle

life is a shorthanded game
of whiffle ball;
three defenders covering
nine positions.

running frantically from left
for the ball that drops in center
right over your outstretched
fingers.

Calling to You

The stubble chinned,

Back bowed,

Walt Whitman

Emerging from the shadows

That envelops his rundown

Haunted shanty

Comes to feed

His host of disciples

The bread of life

Soaked in sour milk.

The supper waits

In cracked, dirty oil pans

Poisoning as it gives life.

His flock of followers

Perched anxiously betwixt

Two lines of power

Shedding the remnants

Of yesterday’s sacrament

In a modern art spackling

Atop the shiny sedans below.

The sheep know their shepherd

As they descend in mass

Surrounding the peddler

As he sells his wares.

His yard in shambles, his neighbors

Furious, he gives freely to his only friends

As they console his loneliness. 

Hourglass Wax

Clothes Drip
Off your Shoulders
Like Wax near a Flame

Rolling Gently
Meeting with the Floor
Then hardening

Fog Warning

The Winslow Homer that hangs
Askew in my boss's office
Is my only solace.

My hands bear no marks
From my work and my back
Feels no strain from pulling oars,
But I envy the Fisherman

The ocean spray that mists
His face as the waves lap
Against the side of his boat.

He rows into ominous storm clouds
Wet. Lonesome. Tired.
But I would trade my lot for his
And row away from the reality that binds me.

A Kindly Gesture

The door, held aloft

By translucent hands,

Thin as death

Shaking with the strain

Deep hollowed chasms

Stare blankly

From the ebony shawl

That envelops and consumes

The creased face

Scars of sorrow and worry

Leave gaping furrows

In cheeks; downturned lips

In an eternal grimace

Hold no door

Your frail shoulders

Strain under secret

Burdens placed thereon

And can hold no more.

Not crashing but rising swiftly
The swell sweeps away
The landscape of your life.

Friendships that withstood
The storms of adolesence
Are swallowed by tides
Of responsibility.

The deluge inundates, baptizes
Leaving in it's wake
The labyrinth of broken pieces
That was your life.

Falling Noiselessly

Falling noiselessly

Upon ears willing to hear

Cascading to the ground.

Concourses clothe the naked

branches made destitute

By the same gentle breeze

That stripped them bare;

That ushers in the consuming cold.

Color Coding

You bring color to my life

The way Dorothy’s voyage over the rainbow

Brought color to the screen.

The twisters and Miss Gulches

Are left in the haze of gray

And the Ruby not of your slippers

But of your lips

Leads me down the yellow road

To the green cities and witches

That primp burn kidnap

The windup clock of my heart.