Division’s Season

Blazing, flash debate

stoke the bonfire, hate-

The time draws near, while

searching out their crimes,

when all we thought we

had was plenty time…

Still our fire died, and

Our smoke laden,

ashen forms

are swept onto the

dung heap.

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Resuscitation

Crimped-shut throat,

pried open-

to receive waves of air

again.

Generous offers

Of love, peace,

joy

if I just look up

and reach

with these

atrophied branches

I call arms,

hands.

Instead, I turn my

head sideways

to drink the

fermented dregs

from the bottom

of the well

I appear to have

fallen in.

Day and Night

Night and silent stars,

with their two cusps called

dawn, dusk-

clear, shaded beauty,

don’t hold the patent,

monopolizing rights from

radiant daylight.

Lost Your Senses?

Crisp diagnosis

Flows over the patient’s head-

Ear circumcision?

Eyes heavy, vacant

Story told with none unsaid;

Believe a patient?

Cluster phrase, circles,

Condescension laces words;

(croon me a blessing.)

Still see time passing,

Doors open, close on loved ones

Who never come back.

Not Everything

Tears are not everything,
though they have their
place and time-
wrung from shades of eyelids,
at life’s frequent crime.

Smiles are not everything,
though they have their
place and time-
flexing cheeks and lips,
at warmth that glows inside.

This life is not everything,
though it has it’s
place and time-
until last, fluttering heartbeat
step into angels chime.

Diet of Teenagers Leftovers

Don’t ever let them

fool you,

Don’t ever let them

say,

toddler’s food

is the only

diet forced on

parents day.

Just yesterday

forgot breakfast;

had a sandwich

end with ham-

dregs of

mocha coffee,

Brownies in a

pan.

My dinner consisted of

a quesadilla sliver,

Some watery sweet tea,

a mushy chunk

of liver;

some fishy-smelling

sushi,

pizza crust

(that’s burnt),

milk with

cookies in it,

and an orange

(that’s turnt.)

My children young?

No, I say;

teenagers

worse eaters

than babies

any day.