Spring

Stride out to open places
snowy ground warmed by the sun.
Throw wide the heavy curtain!
Release the captives-Spring is come.

Comes the Light

I went room to room
with a torch.

Not for light.

Not for light, but
for burning.

I burned all the curtains.

The End

I swore that it would never be
again,
the thoughts, the cares, the
lack-there-of,
all piled high in sleepy burdened blossoms,
nightshade
And thousands of bodies.

And when I awoke,
Strewn about in bags the parts
of all the mother's sons I'd died awaking...
And I clung to the windshield, clung to life.

But if this is the end,
I would make such an end,
as not like the tow, ember glowing,
but as a rage,
a furnace,
a city on a hill.

Try

It is hard to imagine going on living

if I mean nothing to everyone

I want to mean something to-

But I must try.

Winter Haikus

Stupid truck won't start.
I hate you, stupid old truck.
Stupid stupid truck.

Now I'm at Starbucks.
I think Audrey Hepburn's here.
Or her look-a-like.

I hate everyone.
Everyone who's car started.
Look at them driving.

Just drink your Mocha,
I say to my cranky self.
You still have your health.

Break

I have to hope
That when I finally break,
It will be as an egg.
New life will emerge,
and be satisfied.

Every Winter is a Time Machine

And I ran out into the field,
some field I found on my way to grief.
I stood on the edge of that field,
the woods at my back,
and the cold air blew snowflakes in circles around the numb
head on my shoulders.

And I threw off my winter clothes;
my pants and my coat.
I pulled the shirt off my back and
stood in the cold,
stood in nothing but long johns, and boots.

I spread my arms wide,
not in strength like the eagle.
Not in peace like the dove-
but in utter surrender, every bond broken
 between my heart and humanity,
and the strings of my little heart
wavered and fluttered in the frigid wind.

I hoped that there was no repair,
but I knew I was lying, my hope
was not thus.

A trust was that day broken.
An innocence was stolen.

All loyalty was naked, shown
for what it really was-misguided,
selfish, empty, then self-less songs.
A dirge was danced by broken pawns,
and lawns were drenched in blood.
A flood of tears washed alters bronze,
and throngs of spirits crushed
beneath the weight of wasted years
appeared to mourn the loss of life,
or what we thought life was,
and when I found my fingertips
and core had froze
I fell, and became like them.