I refuse 
flat out
to become 
enraged by 
the actions 
of others 
to defend 
my peace 
is to
ignore the 
bait set
by those 
most invested 
in cruelty 

Low sun breaks 
whites of eyes 
and disappears in
pools of brown 
making them glow
a burning amber 
as you turn 
a god is
looking at me 
and sweet nectar 
on moonlit lips 
I do see

When did I
become a pair
of pants that 
someone somehow outgrew 
couldn’t I be 
hemmed and shortened 
turned into shorts 
how did I 
end up in
the rag bag 
when I was 
once the going 
out on a
Saturday night pair
of bell bottoms 

I’m tapped out 
cup runneth dry
nary a thought 
just this emptiness 
the silver vein
turns to ore
and now this 
slate and slag

Thing about bad
is that it
remembers the good 
and it hopes 
for the better 
and it usually 
ends at best