some of life’s circles
never close leaving small gaps
incomplete stories
of love we refused to see
life’s songs we chose not to hear
pain
death of a nation…
when a nation dies
what does it sound like that death
will it gasp and moan
or will it quietly lie
upon its deathbed and die
without a window…
rancid air fills lungs
what’s outside makes no difference
what’s said is what’s real
question none of existence
when the bell rings salivate
clinging to existence …
he
was
curled
into
a ball
lying
at
the feet
of
death
crying out
for
a god
he
didn’t believe in
nor
had considered
until
his lungs
would not fill
with air
and
a drowning feeling
firmly grasped
his body
submerged
in despair
he recalled
when breathing
was
so
simple
no thinking
required
but now
each
breath
struggled
to
lift
the weight
of
death
from
his chest
no
moments
of
life passing
before
his eyes
just
a pounding heart
sweat
without
sweating
the anxiety
of
death
and
empty promises
of
tomorrow
then
suddenly
it
was
over
coronapocalypse…
no face mask
required
presidential funeral wake
for
those citizens
taking part
in
genocide
campaign donations
required
leave your coughs
at
door
and
always drink
with
two hands
stumbling on ramps
shows
your solidarity
with
mindless obedience
to
bathroom scriptures
offering
you
salvation
when
you’re
dead and gone
as
consequence
of
listening
to
fool
on
capital hill
orioles and life…
while filling feeder
a small bee stung my finger
i didn’t see it
like a lot of life’s blindsides
unexpected pain’s greater
old lover’s reconciliation…
path of shattered glass
our barefoot conversations
leave only new scars
new infection…
there’s a new virus
it seems to be spreading fast
the eeyore syndrome
all of life’s beauty denied
not one is celebrated
when in interlude of darkness..
if
you
feel like
you’re crawling
through
mud
with
rancid water
soaking
your clothes
and
the weight
of
progress poverty
pressing
you further
into
the mire
of
inequity
you must
still
continue
the fight
for
social justice
but
each time
you grow weary
focus
on what you do have
those
loving hands
that
reach out for you
those
words
of kindness
and
appreciation
for
all you’ve done
and
those tearful eyes
that
look to you
for
what
you will
do
from the window an old pokey pickup truck…
i’ve spent
quite a few
sleepless nights
during
this
quarantine period
trying
to
measure aspects
of
my life
and
wondering
how others
could have
just
now
begun
to
appreciate
the struggles confronting
those
all around them
since
aunt bea
has lived
through
so much
i thought
i’d give her
call
and
asked
her opinion
aunt bea
said
the pace
of
our daily routines
blurs
our views
of
of life’s journey
keeping
what we’ve seen
or
what
we could have seen
out of focus
perhaps
the pandemic has
forced us
to
slow down
and
see
what’s been
right
in front of us
the whole time
we just
needed
to slow down
a bit
to feel
the pain
of
others
