Into Saturday Night

I awakened him with a soft exhale
One that was on purpose

Long

The timing of which had nothing to do with anything
Except fate and skin and the sixth-sense that is subconsciousness

And though this was his Sunday
That blessed day of rest
Seemed unnecessary, he said

As we sank back
Into Saturday night

Feverish

Re: Incarnate

Memo to self:

When the sun goes down on all he said
I ask why
The battering continues

That the night, without reason
Brings more questions than respite
Is the very reason
I forsake
The bruises and words of him
This, our second time around

Same Measure

Jump through hoops
Come away singed
Whipped
Like a circus animal
Deserving this fate

But don’t believe
Whitewashing the past
Time
Or some forgiving heart
Will redeem you

Artist Credit: Tiger R., age 11

Blue Boy

The wind blew him in, the one I noticed

Late fall or early — does it matter, for he was the perfect shades of blue and blush

Minding his own damn business, but for feasting in my wildflower garden

I had seed to spare and time

There was not a thing more important than to study an old-new friend that day

Eastern not Western, and I knew him some lifetime before

miracle heart transplant

there is no Noah-gene abounding of me

no spin of the wheel offering another lifespan allowance equal to what you’ve long since spent

in silence, find truth

there is no infinite number of star-filled skies

no take-backs or do-overs, despite my shouts of forgiveness and this miracle heart transplant

in truth, find silence

Time

Do you, as I, daily perform an unending juggling act with the hours, grasping at fleeting minutes, feeling, by sundown, famished for time?

Who of us doesn’t wish to artfully turn the wretched clock into origami art that would sit silent and still on the wall and evidence beauty instead of lack?

Were it possible, I would wave my surely magic arms, and weave into the moments a stop gate, then take eternity to tell you, thank you, you were right, and I love you.

Without Filters

If I told you take your sweet time
The remains of my lifetime
I said it through believing eyes
Promising any number of hours
I’ll just be over here on a shelf
Having a cigarette
Waiting

Well, you know me
Always the optimist
The daydreamer with you
My sheer will ran dry
Three months and I did the math
There’ve been three lies
There’ve been three strikes