Bledded Wiss

You said you would not be gone long,
but I'm beginning to doubt that you've
ever really been here.
Time, you said, would give
you insight,
but our steps are slowing
and still I see no
indication
of your understanding.
And if tomorrow comes,
and peeks in the corner of this diorama
to satisfy some wedded curiosity,
I wonder,
will the toilet seat
still be
up?

How to Look

The eyes can decide
what is a storm cloud
or shade,
what is burden
or opportunity,
what is cacophony
or melody.
And each day draws out
its line in the sand,
posing the question:
on which side will
you stand?
Will you stretch into
the morning air
with ineffable grace?
Or will you continue to find
each dead roach
behind the baseboards?

I Didn't Mean It

It was a moment- a split second- you uttered those words,
that cannot be withdrawn.
They hung there-dirty underwear flapping in the breeze,
for all of the neighbors to ogle.
You didn't mean it- you said it with reckless abandon,
but the damage was to the bone.
And the decay resulted in an abscess,
that ruptured and polluted the vision
of myself,
forever changing my
reflection.
Who could have foreseen what
those few words
have wrought?

Greasy Creek

There was a time when butterflies
swam in dizzy circles about her head.
Her now- a xanthous heaven
her tomorrow-sweet apple butter.

The Journey

Something draws me there
from home
and verdant hills.
And tomorrow I will awaken to
parched lands
whispering a deep
longing for
water.

It is almost as if your hand
leads me
away from here
away from certainty
away from linearity,
to some ancient ancestor
who has been waiting
patiently
for my return.