Born on an Overcast Day

Freedom…Just another word for nothing left to lose.

-J.Joplin

born on a cloudy day 5.jpg

 

As the season’s merge…

I cannot help but think of how it is with us.

The inherited panic and fear.

The constant need to disappear.

Just when a trail has been laid…

Just as time has been weighed…

Our over shadowed life becomes displayed.

And, with that knowledge,

we continue to bear the fruit.

An oath to a world of soiled roots.

It is an overcast day.

Guess, sometimes it has to be that way.

Civilized words for a shut book.

Theology has yet to devise a means in which to get you…

off the hook.

No matter how much I scour my mind…

with the salts of the earth…

The winds of change have not stopped.

They take comfort in the calm before the storm.

Yet, they are never completely gone.

And, so the story goes,

some hostages are held by fear and dread.

Others by a custom-made bed. 

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Silent Misdeeds

Silent Misdeeds

Silent Misdeeds

Silent MisdeedsSilent MIsdeeds

Which form of abuse is to your liking?

Why?

You say….

The choice never had been yours

to make anyway…

Though it had always been your voice at stake

Just another orgasm faked…

Choices, options, delusions of narcissistic grandeur…

Why not a familiar bent take on beat her down pleasure?

They all say twice more than what they hear

Guardians of hand-me-down fear.

Everyday serving up a family owned tactile recipes

Everyday reminders turned mystery thrillers.

Everyday the salts that eat the pillars.

Cedar Wood Courts, me

Cedar Wood Courts, me

Cedar Wood Courts, Me
Cedar Wood Courts, Me
Cedar Wood Courts, Me
Cedar Wood Courts, Me
Cedar Wood Courts, Me
Cedar Wood Courts, Me

A memory jogged itself free.

It had been Cedar Wood Court…

a family of flashes absconded with the longest day of the year.

You are after all, old Irish, dear.

The hide and seek…whiskey laced

A game of our Father falling from grace.

Cedars lined in a suburban roe

a piece of country amongst

urban down-low.

An isle of make believe

A day trip tuned in to…

indignant baritones housed in Mother’s shoe.

Loaded guns, stolen Winston’s and relapse debris…

Hangin’ from the memories of Cedar trees.

One for you

Two for me.

Walkin’ the dog, climbing the trees…

Cedar Wood court…

Wooded asphalt

Childish, isn’t it?

To want to believe.

Over the Waterfall

I remember thinking…

last night under a hindering sky…

I remember thinking…imageedit_1_5390726160

‘I don’t want to remember…anymore!’

With every deafening drop of water falling…

sickness spreading.

An illness I have become used to.

Like the promise of never ending rain.

A fist of compounded…sexually, verbally, emotionally, physically…damning pain.

Swelling and breeding in a clogged drain.

I would pry my eyes shut…

If I could…

But they are already pried open.

the Children’s Place

You had to walk, big and tall.

In this, the children’s place.

That is,watchtower 1

if you dare walk at all.

My loose ends, from blankets of downy despair.

Shag, drab, carpeting, coveted the falls.

Baneful comforts arrived such as, gypsies in the night.

Creature comforts mere flukes.

Strings to a grounded kite.

This, my children’s place.

With no saline for the eyes.

Dares for the wicked.

For only the wicked…

Dare cry.