Clean

See me
A junkie
Watery-eyed and shiftless

The voice in my head ruthless
Hope supply torn from my veins
Disoriented and in slow-motion

I know not what to do
But hunger and shake
And wait to be clean of you

Unrecognized

Is my voice ever forever becoming quieter

A year ago, you’d be deeply troubled to hear it by now

Smaller, slighter, and far less full

More less of what you loved

Were I today

Speaking on the news

Inquiring in the produce department

Or campaigning next door

Don’t worry

Your ears would only find faint resemblance to some old someone

You’d not think to ask, “But who?”

Provoked

I’m trusting you to make sense of all this
To put a rhythm to what you see

That’s my gift to you

Find your voice
Your meaning
Keep the hope that all will come alive

That’s your gift to me

Such steps will be as dancing
Call it collaboration

Picket Fences

The white-washed picket fence has blown open again, inviting the varying voices that be

An opportunity, this open door, this moment, and I stick my snowy-white foot in its way

Ajar it will stay, for I’m bolder today and my eyes see the truth ‘neath the paint chipped away

Spring Green

There was in that dark house
A dark corner
Barricaded by a bookcase
Shelves of borrowed, unused wisdom
Visitors might only glimpse

One trying afternoon
Two deja vu’s too many
A final conversation
A one-sided determination
A voice overdue journeyed forth

And She Said
Let there be light
For She Knew
There should be light
There can be color

There in the aftermath
A dark mess
Cobwebs and chipped paint
A different bookcase revealed
She scrubbed and painted Green

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