death by denial…

when
a weapon
is pressed tight
against
your skull
and
you smell
the cold metal
tell me
once again
guns don’t kill
people
do
when
it
is your
innocent child
lying in a grave
whose body
has been
pierced
like
christ
tell
me
once again
those
paid for
words
guns
don’t kill
people
do
for
when
you lie
upon death’s bed
your
blood money
flowing
from
a gunshot wound
i shall
repeat
to you
guns
don’t kill
people
do
but
shall
also ask
would you
like
some tea
or
perhaps
a prayer

deconstructing freedom…

the old barn’ s been
weathered
by
many a storm
quite a few
of
its boards
have been
torn away
and
tossed
by time’s wind
into the sea
others
have been pillaged
for
personal gain
sold
on the open market
at
rock bottom prices
but
stolen goods
can be
dispensed
cheaply
since
there’s
no real overhead
well
not
for
the social merchants
of
sovereignty
but
those housed
in the barn
pay
the highest price
for
the loss

state of the union…

confiding
to
aunt bea
my frustration
with
the
cartoon characterization
of
the state of the union
and
my reluctance
to
express my opinions
to
others
for fear
of
tribal retribution
she
said
i can still
recall
your
first church solo
how you
stood
as far back
as you could
from
the congregation
embedding yourself
behind
the robes
of
your
much taller cousins
serving
to conceal
the source
of that deep voice
and
tho
you were hesitant
to
sing alone
you soon found
that
others
would join in
with
your hymn
of
praise
i would think
that
any song
of
truth
will be joined
by
others
we must
just
let
our voices
be
heard

star chart…

aunt bea
said
i have
a small jar
of
gold stars
on
my office shelf
each
one
represents
someone
i’ve loved
or
grew up with
when
a friend
passes on
i
place their star
on
a picture
of
the night sky
in
my bedroom
and
though
the jar
grows
empty
and
my loneliness
grows
i see
the heavens
full
of stars
when
i rest my head
at night
and
that
gives
me
hope

acquired alzheimer’s …

tears welled
in
eyes
voice strong
but
dry
as if
reciting a prayer
saying
you’ve grown old
you cannot recall
childhood memories
silly games
gentle touches
bedtime prayers
or
laughter
into the night
it’s all
been clouded
by
guilt-full lies
but
as i die
my child
i swear
you’ve
not
heard
the truth