If I was cut from a different cloth
a silk that could bend but not break,
finely woven with hand-me-down threads
actively aging, blended colors and adorned
by frayed ends breathing off small strands
of personality distinguishing my
quilted spirits from one another,
perhaps cloth covers would be
a relief before a means to disappear
unevenly, from the world.


Morning Service

White washed walls gleam with
stained hues frothing freely
vividly infused with Gods breath,
beating once, twice, until a gasp of
relief falls violently out of the
knots in the cherry stained oak
pews lying supplicant with the awakening
of the church accompanying morning service.

Without Light

With the lights turned
out on us I held
our last source,
winding a procession
between the two rooms
of our home; decorating
hidden shivers concealed
behind forced smiles and
physical restraint, we have to
be strong, our windows
iced over revealing ourselves
painted with the smiles we drew
utilizing benumbed fingers
gathering icy droplets
underneath our pale nails
imprinting us all with
a final childish smile before
the candle burns out.

Eroding Marble

Impersonal under-shoveled ditches
memorializing over-burdened heroes,
weeds medal and embellish,
standing honorably obtrusive against the
drifting dandelion seeds dusting over
the sea of eroding marble
annually drifting aimlessly
gently covering last-years footprints naturally
in high-tided waves that foam over my sole
effectively washing away my sorrowful
map to your mark.

A Voice

Speaking through muted syllables anonymous and lethargic so that they rest on the mic, un-able to expound and reverberate throughout a room, un-willing to lengthen each syllable and to cut off the no-ise that erupts from the murmuring onlookers who hear no-thing of me and rather listen to the sound of my abacus sweat dropping to the ground numbering the seconds until I find a voice.


Endless horizons clutter 
with thickening bramble 
clotting the un-safe road 
with visible disturbances 
and distress falling 
freely from torn oak twigs 
scattered about their 
charcoaled parents
unable themselves to
embrace and hold up their
fallen youth.