When I feel this way
Is how I feel today
Can’t tell the difference between blue and tired
There is no light at the end of this tunnel
There is no light at the end of this tunnel
Just gray
Present love
An easy cure
The problem now
The problem before
Is a cold entrance wound
I’m not sad
Not mad.
Just happiless

Not sad. Not mad. Just tired. Just gray.

IMAGE:  Leslie Avon Miller / December 03, 2011

Best He Can Do

Best He Can Do

His hands are dirty
The best he can do

Half a day he can get through
A half-hearted attempt
To show he cares about you
It’s all enough to him
The best he can do

Energy is something to lose
Sometimes for money it’s worth it
Intake is measured by the type of elevation
Everyone around him is irrelevant to the equation
This is the best that he can do

So strong in the way he holds himself up
On shoulders he uses as a crutch
The smartest guy in the room
If you are a guy in the room
The best he can do

The problem really is the double life
And not just the lies
They are a symptom
Fall though the trapdoor of deceit
When that’s the best he can do

Isolate or contain
Don’t spread his pain
Distruction is dominance
The best he can do

IMAGE: dum dum dum – Snailbooty

Black Grass

Black grass

Black grass
White sky
Fog walls
Comfort from the stage
No one can invade
Out here
No shade
Black grass blade
I breathe
You suffocate
I walk today
Chilled and damp
Heaven made
Red stains
Biological rain
Red on the blade
A red name
The old neighborhood
Wasn’t that friendly
Keep me in the white
I’m the memory
Safe in my grave

I’m reading into many things in only black and white. Gray is smoke, not contrast. I’m starving to decide. The in between is memory.  Black and white. 

IMAGE: Riensberg Cemetery Bremen, Germany


I’m Not Laughing

I’m not laughing anymore

I’m not laughing anymore
I do what I have to do
To pay, expend, and give
I slip on moss fallen trees
Across my path

My hopes don’t go up anymore
I use hope like a sponge
To clean my house with
I win when I bet on the horse
Stuck in the gate

I can’t remember when I last danced
As if I take up too much space when I do

I find nothing funny
Buried under the freeway
Luck is when I catch a sunset
Not when the closest person standing next to me
Leaves my shoulders alone

Surprizes are shocks and startles
Things are shitty
Because they can be
My folly, my merit
I can’t laugh anymore


Seasons of Mourning

Seasons of Mourning. Season after season….

A dark Summer
A burnt Autumn
A literal Winter
A starved Spring

A gray Summer
A barren Autumn
A punishing Winter
A colorless Spring

A windy Summer
A dry Autumn
A slumbering Winter
A green Spring

A weathered Summer
A speckled Autumn
A quiet Winter
A purple Spring

A clear sky Summer
A storybook Autumn
A sculpture Winter
A kaleidoscopes Spring

A deep Summer…

The Season Cycle is Earth’s clock. Healing is on Earth’s terms. Years may pass before a day feels ordinary and mundane. A small victory is not noticing a regular schedule. With every season functioning will improve. But it takes season after season after season….


It’s The Inside

It’s The Inside. It’s the inside that counts.

“It’s the inside that counts” is a barren affirmation.
A person is not 2 people, nor 2 halves.
There is not an inside and an outside.
We are a whole package.

We market the inside when the outside is in question.
Or we sell our “curb appeal” over a dilapidated interior.
Nobody gets to cherry pick another person.
Nor should anyone sell themselves short.

We have as many varieties of our species as there are human beings.
Enhancements here, disadvantages there.
Opinions and judgments aren’t real.
When presenting oneself, proclaim, “It’s all or nothing!”

Something got under my skin. This is less of a poem and more of a rant. 

IMAGE: ‘You Blew Me Away’ sculpture by Penny Hardy