Steel Water
I now know much, my love
Your hands still strong but less safe in my mind.
Category: Poetry
My Job Days
Did he scrape the scrape of the sores God allowed?
Does the servant never cower now?
The Sands of Hell
One more time, one last time, come with me to see the ghosts of Huron,
The long boat’s crack and wreck feel the labor of silent men and women in a world
That doesn’t pretend to know or understand.
Bukowski In Church
He drank the song he sang, then sang the drink away. He was beautiful in the evening and wilted in the morning, not remembering why he was still standing, still awake. Life is like that some say–not he–he preferred to drink and sing and not philosophize his life away. He kept …
When?
But I weary
Journey
Tell me how to live and to love
He Danced Her
So she enameled the floor ebony and coated the walls black, encasing her bed in dark Egyptian cotton and flung across the canopy blackest velvet curtains.
His Web
Resistance is equal in taste so he waits for the vibrant living thing.
Slane
What was his vision?
Cnaejna
See the steeple, pierced deep and dimpled down between the
Steel and glass scrapers of the sky?
Take my hand and feel the ice cold sorrow of what life is,
I’ll allow you to think you can save me.