...those were the good...

zipper crisp and singsong clearing
spiders making runs at dusting hour
hollow focus courses
and fragment jigs at fading light

another old farmhouse boy
his horse's name is apex

porches glide the pen and cloud cover the way
the dough fries glittering gold
lately the dog makes nice
slop piles along the last route home

another old farmhouse boy
his first love died too long ago

blackbird fresh does heal mess
gallant the remain
trough right up to blood kin parade
more than not the moonrise comes circle bone

another old farmhouse boy
he kills a snake a day

arf 06

...oh say can she see...

she spills herself onto broken ground
watches her insides go
with hands not meant for this she holds in what she can
but the pressure and the heat and the ooze of it all keeps
it allows itself out
storming like flash

there is hoping
there is praying
there will be more symptoms to bear

her breath is hot lead
a mix of molten dreams and fiery contempt
as if lung against lung were the natural order of things
she tells herself she will not keel
silently
as her tongue melts on the floor at her feet

there is saluting
there is singing
there will be more losses like this

someone lesser by now would not be
her skin becoming a terrible candy
a treat for the hurt in its hour of need
still her balance holds
but she is no longer sure
if it is her or it
or both holding fast to the other

there is demanding
there is warring
there will be more fearful dark ahead

breakpoint passed she feels it all crack
the know in her must try and hold
along the edges of her dazed vision
she sees enough to warrant the next promise
of another day
another step closer
to a heal
that snuck out behind her
years ago

arf 06