Lying and Dying

There are lines to this scarcity.

Hidden obstacles filled with joyless doubt.

Now that I am in…the dead air is coming out!

A covert world we all must go thru…

and, the question remains…

‘Will I have the courage to go without you?’

The grass beaded with dew and the…aromatic earth…

does not quench my soul as it used to.

Lying and dying have become art forms.

A certain style giving unto…laughing…crying.

Courage in the blinding light of day can whisk the unthinkable webs away.

Nonetheless, the night…with its sporadic fits of sleep…

Still begs for valor’s retreat.

Trouble Maker

Trouble, the further, the faster, I run from it…

the closer, dire straits and her finish-line.

Some of us, much more maniacal, by design.

Some of us, inherently, stick our big toe in questionable mud…just to draw the line.

Some of, masons in glass trailer parks.

Base ass, tossing rocks.

god may not give with both hands…but trouble certainly does!’

Natural Drunkard

This constant search and agreement that the road carries on.

This bond with nature is bittersweet.

A constant gnawing.

A scratching at an evergreen door.

And, the earth fine as elderberry wine.

Another indulgence that never quite wets…my lips.

Such a drunkard am I!

I drink in the rainbow of flavors with a guzzle…not a sip.

An inebriated understanding…I am so small.

Mother Nature, the only beverage I drink in.

A seduction to which it is certain…I will fall.

Box of Vows

I discovered my vows in the bottom of a box

Scribbled, smooth as silk….yellow, red, purple…

the words,

of love and such.

With tannery hands,

I brushed away the

cobwebs.

I gently blew away the dust.

Endearment’s endeavors had been so young…way back when.

Impasse coupled with miracles…a constant friend.

Years of having worn my heart on my sleeve…lavished me in self proclaimed, misery.

It is only now, by virtue of, love’s vows…

I see the greatest gift of all.

‘You have taught me to take life less seriously.’

Home, Hostile, Home

Home!

Funny, odd, queer, with its anger.

Ham fist-ed jokes never given in moderation.

Games of…

monopoly…no dice.

Frisbee’s tight lipped and tainted black for playing at night.

Puns? A lead pipe to encourage all players to…think twice

The, I Was Only Joking, trophy, next to Home, Sweet, Home, place-mats, to adorn the holes in the wall.

Mad Jester, the biggest joker of us all.

Pastime of full contact Slap Jack.

Paperbacks left in the rain.

Simon Says, it is a never ending riddle.

Wisecracking those who wish to remain sane.