Rain pelts the old girl,
The tin roof and cold world
That once hailed home.
Late for a roam,
And my brother’s guitar.
We live wherever we are,
But home is a woodstove burning hot,
And songs belted out over a boiling pot
Of cheap, simmering stew
Climbing the stairs when we were through
Sleeping with freezing fingers and toes,
The only warmth anyone knows
Is whatever we can bring
Whatever we can love, or be, or sing.

Laughter subsides,
Takes a nip,
But does not slip
Asleep under bribes-
And the dark of silhouette
Falls along the inner walls
The hunt, the calls,
The fears aren’t fallow yet
And they haven’t found me
Not for years, but a moment alone
A glance, a shadow, and I’m known
Again seen, again to flee.
I came with my head high,
No blood in your water.
You smell the martyr
And I didn’t want to die.
You taught me this language,
And I recognize the strains,
Echoing what remains
Doesn’t flow under the bridge,

But in your veins.

No longer seaworthy, and the hull
Is wrapped in a cloak of barnacle
Though buoyant once on ocean sprays-
Skimming along on sun-bright waves
While lovers held their sailor’s trysts
Paltry secrets in salty mists
This noble vessel of silent wood
Kept secrets no one living could,
Season again, to cut the wake;
To drink the tide, to thirst and slake,
Until dry docked just lengths away
From the beckoning crystal bay.
Falling vacant to disrepair
Surrounded by the fresh sea air-

The death in view of every eye,
To live, to sail, to yearn, to die.

Is the old world gone again

Or dead again

Weathered from self

Or talking lies to each other

weather and agendas and

walking surface streets

near but not together

Is the old world mourned

or underground

or do we hold what remains

of barefoot days

bare headed in wind and rain

and raw, bleeding laughter

After sunset, after days,

I wanted a lover in secret and dark

and whispers of alliance in ears

Too young,  too small

To hear the storm

Talking, talking,

but never whispers

Ferocious gale storms

Battering windows that shake

and moan and creak and threaten

to give all- to give way-

Hungry, angry, the tempest grows

Screams devoured silently in its center,

But whispers…

Ah… whispers echo all.

Then the morning,

Sunlight breaking as a fever-

branches strewn like fallen garland

homeless leaves flit and wail

seeking, searching,

never found again

but by death, decay and rot.

The acute pleasure of fear

Eclipsed by the organic waste left behind,

Proof of storms and fury and sin

Proof of mankind

written in waste.

Hatred,

Did you burn against me?

I’ve read your words,

Your confusing medley.

So ready to sell me off,

Or chop me down.

Mute,

I walked where you gave me

Your land, your soil.

The grass knew my bare feet

The blades cut my song

Into bone.

Wet hair,

I fled like a maniac, laughter

Flowed like tears, hysteria

I chased the morning after

With ten more years

Of barefoot races.

Lost

And lone by your design.

Thorns can’t blame the rain

But beauty always intertwined

The downpour, or I

Would lay down blind

Under your dark earth.