having found a stone in my shoe…

having-found-a-stone-in-my-shoe

i’ve begun
to wonder
if hate
does not
permanently
dye
the soul
the color
of
dried blood
our
words
of forgiveness
to those
who’ve
wronged
us
are
but
pilate washing
his hands
all the while
a thin veil
of flesh
conceals
what lies
within
a darkness
that
spews
from our lips
gaseous words
of venom
when
passing
troubadours
wishing
only
to write
songs
of enlightenment
press
too tightly
upon
the fragile flesh
of
our
beliefs
and
fears
thus revealing
that
inert
element
hidden
in our souls

oneiroi…

it had been years
since he’d
shared a room
with a man
indeed
for 50 years
she had been
by his side
each night
how
clearly
he could still hear
her turning pages
as she read
late
into
the night
sometimes
dozing off
with the book
opened
and
propped upright
as if reading
with
closed eyelids
any attempt
at removing the book
garnered words
of denial
of sleeping
then
the shuffling of more pages
before the nightlight
was permitted
to sleep
however
his new roommate
preferred
old black and white movies
with
the sound set
to compensate
for the hearing aids
so neatly
stored in his desk
so as to save them
for
a special occasion
no doubt
his own funeral
so many changes
not only roommates
but
once great books
provided the escape
from life’s harshness
but now
it was
sleeping
more preciously
dreaming
for in dreams
you can be wherever
you wish
and
these constraints
of life
are
mere delusions
so
there’s no need
to
discern
night
from
day
except
when
she
comes
to
visit

brass kangaroos and concepts of truth…

brass-kangaroos-and-concepts-of-truth

these dreams
are not
your dreams
for mine
were
that
freedom
was more
than
an illusion
but
i
believed
the myth
hard work
dedication
honesty
would
be
recognized
and
rewarded
but
not even
my children
recall the truth
the lacquer of lies
tho
semitransparent
conceals
and
distorts
the view
of
reality
ah
but
we all hide
from
the truth
or
run from it
as though
its mirror
might reveal
what is
already
known
so
no
real
need
for denial

makeshift sails…

makeshift-sails

every house
seems to have one
that drawer
that serves
as a repository
for everything
that might be
needed
again
parts
from things
that
no longer work
and
were tossed away
years ago
so
to be useful
these things
must be
repurposed
during
salvage operations
in other words
used
to jerry–rig
another
failing relationship
you know
that old drawer
reminds me
of some people
i know

revenants…

your-important-memories

before dawn
while lying
in bed
there are places
where
thoughts travel
traversing
back
in
time
to life’s events
as
an observer
unable
to change
anything
but
able
to relive
the pain
and
joy
of
moments banished
from
our control
so
we
depart
empty-handed
with only
a tear
or
two
to remind us
of
our
morning’s journey