Oasis


A sandstone well in the oasis of an urbanization
fits impossibly precise to the brick shells strangers call home.

I draw from that well, pulling muddied water
soiled from the community’s negligence and I drink some.

Each sip brings me closer to an exorcism of the demons
I cannot fight, fear is formless, and heated ropes sear my hands.

Again, deceit passes my lips entering a chamber of secrets
and it floods, unfortunately, my demons know how to swim.

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.

Connection


Static overtones provide cacophonous shelter  for your reason, each time I would dial in your melody; yet I, eventually drop the phone just so I can watch it mimic your slipping away, hoping that gravity would halt and you would stay near me relative to the same way you once did, and only my phone survived unbroken from that titan fall.

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.