Crazy beginnings to hot summer days
begin slow walks to the neighborhood fountain.
Walking slow begins the neighborhood fountain
where neighbors scream sitting on porches.
Screams shouted from the front porch by neighbors
are ignored by the dogs fighting in the dirt.
Ignored by the dogs fighting in the dirt
I walk by carrying a load precious to me.
Precious are the loads I carry walking
through the flower beds of yellow day lilies.
Through the flower beds of yellow day lilies
steps part the ways between useful and condemned.
The useful and the condemned part ways between steps
on crazy beginnings to hot summer days.
Tag Archives: Duplex
After the Memory of Death
I remember my life after death where my body no longer struggles against the struggles which a body longs for thrown into the pool where fear plays. Playful fear splashes in the neighbor's pool making cries mocking the pull of drowning. The mockingbird cries pulling drowning sorrows into the radiance of blue. Blue radiates, mirroring the drops of sorrow upon the neat page listing summer plans. Summer pages turn neatly as plans list according to the number of joyful shouts. I shout with joy counting the number of times I live after the memory of death.
Conscience
Yesterday unbinds the conscience of today twisting happiness free from the pressed grip. Gripping hands wrench happiness away, claiming some divine birthright over all others. My right to birth claimed nothing and everything when I arrived from nowhere into expanse. Arriving, somewhere rather than nowhere, I learn how to be sadly dangerous. Danger and sadness merge silently when blood threatens to appear on white pages. No blood found on pages, black and white, means demands have not yet crossed borders. Borders demand to be crossed so as to unbind the conscience of tomorrow.
Starting Point
The place where I started can be found among chewed pencil stubs marking the moment between moments marked by pencil scribbles noting the time when boring entered my lexicon. I first said boring the time when I was born, apologetically to my mother as she screamed. I have since apologized to my mother for all the times when I made her cry. Secular folks are not the only ones to cry, begging for a sign that reads, Smile, Sinner. There are signs smiling all across this Land around which we circle seeking our home. Sometimes going around in circles I never find the place where I started.
A Thread You Follow 