Sentient Sacrificed

You, the junk
The addiction
The smack to my very well-being
The contraband to my no-pain-and-suffering-of-sentients policy

I, the chosen one
Queened for just such a time as this
Dignified, decree you
Sacrificed, nonetheless

Original thought credit: “Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.” -Esther 4:14

Snowing Now

How would one say this most tenderly
Having taken a chance, a first step
Towards a clean slate

Brushed clean the old optimist’s talk of hoping to give one’s whole heart
For one’s whole life

An offer of a lifetime
Open hands held
Shaking for oh, so, long
Waiting crazy patient

Retracted now, reality calls

How should I say this most tenderly, liar

Enjoy the ride South
As you watch me
Enjoy the ride

Wrong Address

Love is coming today
To this address
To take love away

Stopped back then and stayed
Entirely by mistake
Too polite to have told you so

Now it would be wrong
Continuing the charade
Unfair to you both

Love is coming tonight
Too soon
To say good day

Chalk

You’re already leaving

Throwing around avoidable words

Solemnly slung

So as to convince the pair of us

You’re already packed

Holding back an arsenal of loving

Earnestly proclaimed

But why ever for, as we each see

You’re already gone

Space

That game

Of Life

I won

Back in late 1980-something

Which was

To be

For fun

You turned into a federal offense

Hear this

My rules

You’re done

You can no longer share My life

My time

Or be

My Sun

Perpetuity

Theater of the absurd

You, an understudy into perpetuity, and not a soul who will say why

Though they know

Sworn to silence by some darkness, by some angel

Enter they, the arena, to take their places, their cues

Applaud, then heckle, then leave without a fight, or even debate

Goodbye Convention

Disallowed to feel; love or lust or hope or trust, this is how I feel.

Discouraged to want; kindness, presence, endless laughter, this is what I want.

Disinclined to think; hope is dead, no heart, all head, that’s no way to think.

Fly

I’d walk away from that song
Stand up
Assuredly and
Move as far from
Smothering, dark guitar riffs
Microphone too close to the lips
Smacks of the 70’s
Music, loosely-defined
Sounds no one thought much of
To this crowd, though, it’s fly
But I’m leaving the headache
The poor acoustics
The noise for these poor ears
Behind
Cue the fog machine and strange piano

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