The rest is …?

Palpable
where are my stones
my pocket must be restored
sweet tender pouch of spirit
power and soon
occasionally I will pray
in colors and new faith
grown out of so many definitions
escaped like seeds of weeds
sometimes somewhere wanted and thus
redefined

I have held relics in my hands
now I kneel in silence reverent
for its wholly holy blessing
a thousand angels could not be greater
than a simple quiet hour

~~~~~~~~~~

Crystalline pure in someplace forgotten
unimportant enough to slow a flowing
frothing rush trickles now instead
over visible ledges
underpinnings plain as whalebone corset stays
just as stifling

Even the rain is periodically muffled
in its downpour
all that green filigree
after it’s been flattened
will move on toward ripe heavy times
when it has moved on

~~~~~~~~~~

Culling
brutal in remembrance of a time
without choice
living continued without most of my history
when I was twenty-three

I must think as though I’m moving
what’s worth packing
what gets thrown away
because that day is coming
each day makes it closer

~~~~~~~~~~

Out like a light

Neck sorting its position
navigating through formations
built of twinge and hunch and pinch
pulling into a stretch
lugubrious and lubricating
does it work or not
you tell me
is it just a pony trick
to pass the time before facing
enemy windmills

Shoulders shuffle down toward comfort
head bolstered toward midnight
nothing felt and nothing gained
someone flippant and curt over a given sea
or two
once proposed wreaking havoc
but in the end it was done
with no assistance from anyone’s east
so consider the matter
closed