Faded capes

I’m choking on my lack of

posterity

Concerned about being worthy

Of being remembered beyond my chronology

Stuck in the rut of pointless regrets

Clawing at the self deprecation

As if self loathing is as critical as a mosquito bite

Or as crucial as picnic potato salad

Lover’s Truth

What gift can I give you that holds my heart to yours?

Let’s see how deeply we fall together before no lines divide us

Let’s connect our breath to heal the world

Let’s unite long enough to speak the elemental languages

Return where your tribal heart drums rhythmically

To that place where time meets juicy fleshy extravagance

Hold on with all you’re becoming

Birthed in the darkest roots

churned with flourishing mossy tendrils embraced

In your breasts

Scrubbing away the shadows

That leave stains upon the floors

Adorn your flowing crown of silver with constellations of ginger stars

Surrender half-mast head hanging shame

Raise your chin your power reclaim

Pound your soapbox pulpit with the revivalists fervor

Radical revolutionary revulsion of state sanctioned murder

The Altar

I don’t want to be God’s regret,

I know I’m already mine

The conversations I have with myself

are no longer kind

They admonish me of my failures

point out how I could always do more

They ridicule my insecurities

taking me its prisoner of war

Left-hand turn

The loneliness isn’t in the silence, it’s in the absence of commentary.

My “Silent but Deadly” litany chants in my head

“Don’t open your throat, let the demons be fed”

I want to reach out. I want to be heard. But…

Reality isn’t where I want to be disturbed

My brushes lay colorless, lifeless as corpses

My observances from the corner, bodily divorces

I’m running like hell hounds know my name

The bridges start smoldering in fingers of blame

and they all return to me. Their rejection is plain to see

If I’m not them, I’m never good enough as me.

Throne

My throne near the top of the willow tree

where I could oversee

my kingdom that resounded

with mournful train chords

and springtime robin red-breast

Thin the veil between worlds

Of retrospection cursed not blessed

It’s like a perpetual bloodstain

With solidly placed blame

Thats removed quietly with disdain

Where “It’s just how they are” to

Invisibility of me to an entire crew.

But I’ll not allow their foolishness

Not in my kingdom where I am best

Where I’m more than bone deep

Better than the company they sheep.