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Literature
Watching the Critters on a Spring Day
Watching the critters enjoy the day...
rooster, Baby, fluffs up and rolls
in favorite holes by the garden gate...
gentle hens wander, stopping
to eat an  occasional grub,
kittens come from nowhere
flip through the air like flying squirrels
, chasing  bugs,  loving life,  childlike,
an old dog flops on cold slate
of the entryway , away from the sun,
sighing, hiding from the heat, missing
his snowbanks
Simon  slinks through shadows,
plots hatching, hoping to catch
the juncos unaware.
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Literature
Drift
Snow falls
and exhaustion.
Thoughts vanish
like objects lost under
a blanket-like blizzard,
forgotten, at rest
nestled deep in the drifting
cool cotton, only to awaken
again, slowly thawing.
I search for my shovel,
but it’s rusting and rotten.
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Literature
Long Term Plans
Things are getting thugly
'round here. You know you
young dumb fucks
trying for a cameo
on orange is the new black
Thing is, this ain't the place
for keeping secrets safe. It's
too Mayberry  for that,
and fools like you  can't
wait to  brag about
your badass acts,
and there's a whole lot
of gossip going 'round
'bout that
and a few of you
are likely going down,
you're gonna miss making
your late night rounds
'round the valley very soon
now. You'll be singing
a new tune: boohoo boohoo,
bluer than blue.
The Gangsta, You, so
fly, so cool in your
new used jumpsuit.
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Literature
Sophilia
Too late for the toad, too late
for the clover, I went ahead
and mowed it over, all-
the tall grass, it's sparsely hidden
inhabitants, despite having discussed
with my love a desire to let life grow
with suddenly apparent insincerity,
having met the eyeless toad,
and having watched the wilted wildflowers
slowly  growing back. I ask myself
what made me need to go and cut the grass
so badly, reflecting sadly on a realization
of how currently inclusive concepts of beauty
are polluted with ugly expectations.
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Literature
Bleakon
When darkness
turns white gray,
when  light dims,
fades away,
angels avoid
the fray
when demons
come to play.
Night supersedes
the day. No words,
no prayers to pray,
for what is left to say?
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Literature
The Deal
While you're wrecking yourself,
you'll wreck anyone else,  
laying welt upon welt,
never without your  belt,
dressed in pain that's unfelt
as those you befriend now stand naked.
They've knelt, begging God for an end
to the hand  that you've dealt.
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Literature
Outfits
Getting dressed: a closet full
of inappropriate outerwear.
There's nothing in there to cover
the bare nakedness of my heart.
The Today Show's
violent home invasion,
brutal exploitation of dead
Syrian babies gaping,
taking last gasps
in the aftermath of gas attacks,
emphatic talking heads,  
brain rapists force-feeding
us breakfast, bombastic
prattle, graphic, measured
spoonfuls of fear. We are exposed,
no clothes to cover or protect us
from the elements. Naked
as newborns, this morning
mourning humanity, adorned
in helplessness tailor made
to suit our denuded populace.
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Literature
Forces
It wasn't without guilt
that I cut the plum branches
from the still dormant tree
in the last week of February,
careful though I was to cut a criss
-crossed set, setting the ugly branches
in  my mother-in-law's urn.
I wondered if the part left
undisturbed envied  
the branches, growing
green and blossoming
inside, and if the boughs,
forced into early blush
grew bored or arrogant,
fluffed up with pride
before, before their time,
they died there, drying
in my sunlit window.
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Literature
Impressionism
I didn't mind
wearing the mask, per se-
a certain comfort comes
with anonymity. But
when a heartless artist
made me his muse,
marked his canvas
with expressions
of impressions
I lost face. I
never put it on again.
I keep my head
down now.
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Literature
Ghos'ly
He can't conceive the pain his words have caused.
A hungry wolf attacks, he feeds on me,
a brutal brain-rape force of bloody claws
raw flesh and muscle  hanging from his jaws
(a rabbit, caught, still struggling to get free).
He can't conceive the pain his words have caused,
opinions shredding meat without a pause
-a wolf must eat! He feels no sympathy,
all brutal brain-rape force with bloody claws.
His brethren came to join the feast, their maws
filled, satisfied now (momentarily...)
they can't conceive the pain his words have caused.
Thin skeleton, upon my bones he gnaws
while rummaging through piles of debris,
this brutal brain-rape force of bloody claws.
My faith is left to universal laws,
no solace, no revenge, no poetry.
He can't conceive the pain his words have caused,
a brutal brain-rape force of bloody claws.
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Literature
Twiddlepainted
Plump purple
goes perfectly
with February's chill.
Still, I want to dabble
in apples, but uh-oh that
may be trouble, maybe not-
it's slightly ostentatious
amidst the mist of little
moments of white light
once lost in the cold
now caught and kept
in the box just to
be there when
it rains.
It pours.
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Literature
Losing Battle
I cannot stop the  world from burning
down, I cannot save my town,
my neighbor's daughters,
sons, my sons, myself
perhaps today so far
but tomorrow hangs,
gray ashes rising
from a glowing
stovepipe.
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Literature
Enabling
My weak heart, thin bones,
flesh and blood isn't enough
to fill their dry veins.
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Literature
Choice
Beautiful day, I
have imagined you this way,
ignored storms. Let's play.
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Literature
Nightmourn
When the sun comes up
before you come down night slips
out the back door slams
daylight before you
in appropriate flannel
turn antipodal.
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Literature
Wake
A storm brews. Coffee,
perks, grounding grit
rich darkness cupping
the surge of orange
energy, morning- the lost
light sleep window, pain
breaks, cold snap
wrapped rain dogs
barked but naked trees
fall as dead, leaves me
swallowing bitter liquid
I considered bliss.
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