Winter Proof

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Ended as it began

These dark days of November through January
Dancing in digital
Parallel and alone

Yet in analog, earnestly asking
Feigning a truth on behalf of some good cause

Forgiveness follows now, as it must
Lest Winter become as liquid courage
That most dangerous thing

Demurrer

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Permission
And you don’t need it
Rocket fuel, though
For out-of-this-world ideals
Owned by idealistic men
Courageous ones with gall
With a willingness
To join hands with the Other
To answer
To make an admission, but never concede
Human

California, Again

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It’s Winter when he does this, so I buy myself time and find flowers somewhere. Color-filled, with thorns that draw my blood which proves I’m alive and not here to stay quiet and blind. These flowers, I cannot help but clutch them in desperate remembrance that it’s Summer somewhere. I was born in the Summer.

Name This Poem

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When you suppose your eyes

Close them whenever, what do you see

Me

I see flowers that belong to you, although I have no proof

But it is your stare

From my best recollected memory

Through this whirlwind storm God permits

And this calm

From which I build my case

Split

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The one who knows
The one who doubts
The one who must be crazed 

The one in shrouds
The one laid bare
The one with proven skin

The one who wants
The one who must
The one who Heaven wills