portrait of a man sitting outside in his underwear in yuma…

his eyes
follow her
unkept promises
to
another
mere
coins
tossed into
a wishing well
wishes
that cannot
nor
should be
granted
for they
are
faded memories
of
youth
so
faded
that they are
unrecognizable
without
the worn pages
of
a yearbook
pages
providing a list
for
deciphering
the names
neatly
printed
with
a small
font
in
the obituary column
a column
he
now reviews
daily
a routine
to give meaning
to days
squandered
calculating the odds
of
his
own demise

cadet bone spurs’ dynasty…

an army
of
terracotta senators
and
representatives
line
the tomb
of
america’s freedom
a catacomb
hermetically sealed
from
the needs
of
the nation
and
its people
these protectors
of
just us
stand guard
over
washington’s necropolis
of
marble halls
parks
statues
and
wood panelled offices
their lacquered words
covering
red
white
and
blue
patriotic paint
can curl
in
fifteen seconds
once
exposed to
corporate donations
and
can flake off
in
just minutes
after
an election
their
covetous emperor
lies
in
his own
pit
with
a rickety
entry way door
carved
with
a crescent moon

neo-babylonian walls …

these walls are not firm
they’re built with honor’s promises
freedom’s building stones
mortared just by history
and history’s forgotten

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

cliché…

watching
patterns
on
the ceiling
candlelight dancers
flickering
like
memories
and
sweet words
heard
so
long ago
friends
forever
lovers
for
the moment
tantalizing
touches
passion
has a way
of
arbitrating
with
reason
youth
has little
to do with it
but
provides
a time-tested
excuse
readily accepted
in
most circles
of
society
except for
a few
hardline
religious zealots
who
rarely
approve
of
anything
but they
end up
like
the melted wax
upon
my floor
cold
solidified
paraffin postures
of
humanity
never
really enjoying
the
flames