Thursday, September 30, 2010

Bright Eyes

Age pities the child
with bright eyes
bluely born, in sight of death's eve;
The End, birthing beginning.

Do they feel replaced,
these, souls withdrawn?

Place reincarnated,
spaced, in decades-
old lines; wrinkled contentment
finds no regrets; rather,

Relief like a sigh, exhaled, slowly seen
expirated in a breath, on a cold autumn morning
finally,
falling
Up.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

The Hairdresser and the Mortician.

Two alike, their hand's work
dressing, in imitating breaths
their customers: the living
and, the dead; coming
through the doors, seeking
dignity, cut and shaped
out of life's split ends,
faces frayed, contoured in lines
grown tired of smiling; now,
a freshly shaved chin-up, looks
like a man wooing a first kiss,
expectantly...

The day closes, laid out
with respect reflecting in eyes'
gratitude.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

In my room...


A moth dies
turning to dust at the heat
of my lamp, radiating
ringed sight with a yellow eye.

Was it burning judgement felt?

Or, a Refiner's curse
thawed through aches
into sight.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Tall tales...


Disappointment sings
echoes through cottonwoods, tall
tales, of what could have been
but isn't. After everything
hope's bell rings mute, percussively
struck with a felt-covered mallet,
cautiously reverberating dreams.