Marching Orders

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If it isn’t the full moon, moving lock, stock and barrel across the nighttime sky, settling us as we sleep,

It’s the earnest, pre-July tomato, out of season, allowing your knife, hoping to earn your devotion nonetheless.

Diligent, determined. Teachers of us.

How simply might we, with role-models as these, also warm the chilled shoulder of the world?

Not Humored

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A gorilla behind the wheel

Surely you see the humor

And he’s brilliant, after all

If you’re outside looking in….

…but inside….

Gripping at anything stationary

Having stopped laughing miles and miles ago

You rethink genius, throw a banana in the backseat

And resume your route to the zoo

The I Am

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I once watched

With gaping jaw

And guilty skin

This One Guy acknowledge humanity

He came alongside the sorrow

Full-on admitted the fire

Reached out His hand nonetheless

Then stepped forth

In Everlasting Love

That I’d have new life

My God!

So I say, Here Am I

The Lengthening

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What puts me on edge about Spring is it makes no promises and refuses all requests.

Without notice, it could choose the craze of a Summer heat.

The best case scenario -such bravery in risking my lust.

Or on a dime, it delivers a confused dose of wintry wrath.

Snow that won’t live to see the weekend, so why-for dear Spring?

But woe be to me should Spring choose a most deviant trickery:

And leave me longing in only the long shadows of a forever Fall.

The Drop

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The drop

Atop the chim-chimney, in evening’s early hours

Slow, slowly down rock, round midnight

Absorbed then disbursed by the skin of the roof before dawn

Why, oh why, can gutters steal you by sunrise

The fall