If This Is Me


A two a.m. reflection dazes me, as
if this is me:

If this is me, I,
still remember to never forget you, too.
If this is me, you know.

You know I think about you,
wondering meanwhile, how am I.
If this is me, speaking clearly in private
unable to let gravity pull those words
into and out from my mind.

If this is me, walk softly: dance
around my reflection with your eyes.
Tread the water that fills mine
and float slowly out of sight if
this is me,

just know that patience drifts
on with the two forevers that
have haunted me since I realized
it is me not you.

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Natural Holocaust


A natural Holocaust rages, today
tearing away at the elderly standing
for decades and now, overturned.
It consumes, burning brightly a
condolence candle composed of acres
melting together in ashen soil.
It denies, habitual homes and
dewy dusk laden grass growth
currently fenced in.
Restrained by manufactured life
tiling leased land feebly privatizing life
momentarily without hindrance
focused solely on today.

Impulse


My uninspired attempts at masterpiece
sear the tips of my fingers that charcoal infinitely 
onto innocent paper, scarring its symmetry with
coarse words whose sounds scrape, strangely
unaware of their existence, against each other
etching impulse into, my, reality
that of imitation mass produced 
norms that confound the essence of  life.