Yellow like Buttercup 

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Yoga class
A dark, dark street
At the end of the line, please, please, please
My first Home
A Trek not for the faint
The seat of power 
Christmas but not really
Where the mountains meet the sea
At school one day on a lark
Christmas for real this time
New Year’s for sure
With a porch swing
In the mailbox 
Around every corner
God knows where else I’ve forgotten 
I grew honest 
I grew proud
He was there and you were where?

Bunk

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Isn’t it enough to send you
The notion
The gall
The balls of it all

What white coat ought you report to 
‘Twas witchcraft
‘Twas lies
‘Twas dust in your eyes

All the hell you put yourself through
To know life
To thrive
To More Than Survive

Crushed

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Busy, busy, boy in red 
But I’m swifter still 

Get my demise in your head 
Think to be my pill

Do you dream I’ll give my all
To your damnedest plan

This Dark Friday caused your fall
My The Great I Am

What is Wanted 

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Irksome grace
For its decree of life
With gritted teeth and straight shoulders
Sometimes
With initially unnoticed weaving 
Othertimes

Confounded hounding 
For its refusal to die
Through the otherwise hollow
This mind
Through conceded smile
I don’t mind

Dawned

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And then when dusk becomes inevitable
Denial becomes plain as day
Admit it we must
There are words that won’t be uttered
Tones of voice reserved for others 
Questions never to be asked
Surprises fade into midnight’s nothingness

Bigger

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What Holy adhesive 
Bound there
And how dare it have
Yet failed elsewhere

What roses perfumed
Her walk
And hued tint reflected,
Affected his vision 

Bigger it is
Their world
And their treasures, their eyes
In proper places