Minutes after midnight

those prophetic patterns
run deep in his soul
they climb through
the ladders of his DNA
and knock on his heart
in the minutes after
midnight
they point out
the young woman
who draws her dreams
on the sidewalk
for passersby to
tread upon
they indicate
the man
who waits by
the intersection
swallowing his smoke
as it his constant, yet only
friend
they single out
the laughing children
who will never be born
under soot cloud skies
that bleed what man has
made by destroying
what God has made
they turn to
the days beyond
thirsty lips of problems
the gnashing teeth of need
to days of silence
to days of depth
deeper than the images
caught in brief moments
when walking past
store windows
to seconds spent
as decades before
a setting sun that
won't surrender
to a suicidal slap
that breaks the shell
to be delivered
from this living hell
to wake up in those
minutes after midnight

Just the sip

sip of my cup

I have filled it for thee

please drown thine worries

upon thy bended knee

sip and sip again

from my shining chalice

surrender thine trembles

to my pleasure palace

quench your thirst

on my fountain for thee

I even have a cushion

for thy bended knee

come hither I plead

for thee to drink thine fill

lap up my sweet nectar

give in to my will

sip of my cup

it awaits your warm lips

please come and drink

before it spills or drips

April prayer

spare the salt shaker
oh lord

this spring has been

over seasoned

and your children

long to play in color

instead of sulk

in monochrome ice

we tire of the flake

we tire of the freeze

oh lord please

put down the salt shaker

let us see the reason

for this season

to bud, to bloom

to break free from sleep

and awake from wintry horror

to hear the little birds cheep

and the crickets squeak

spare us the crunch of snow

under tires and feet

EOS

thirty minutes
before the end
of a shift
is a pill taken
slowly
a dipping
of the toe
into a warm
soothing bath
the first steps
of a walk
through the woods
on a crisp
October eve
a harvest of
elderberries
and seeing the
wine in the small
dark violet
filled fruit

Pillars

brittle are the branches
of the forest
of the tall skeletal trees
the white leather bark
bares the lack
of trust
and the saturation
of fear

the tall skeletal trees
hide behind
their gray barrels
their money masks
their churchy charms
their wind

they rattle their laws
in the ravenous tempests
the yellowed faded laws
that fall to the floor
to be trodden upon
until they are earth itself

the tall skeletal trees
that have a taste
for their own
bleached flesh
and impatiently wait
in the ravenous tempests
for one of their own
to fall
into the puddles of piss
they sip from

Conversation with a shapeshifter

I was shutting

the doors to

my optical cabinets

when a curious fellow

introduced himself

with a sharp and

malevolent grin

as I gazed upon him

I couldn't grasp

a clear image of

what his face might be

for with each ticking

of each second

on the clock down the hall

I was looking upon

a different face

his form would not

or maybe even could not

rest on one image

at first I was amused

with the wonder

of the fluid face

but tired soon

and began questioning,

"Who are you?"

"What do you want?"

"Why are you here

in all these various forms?"

then slowly yet abruptly

the fellow chose

to come to rest

upon a hideous sight

that very one mentioned

previously concerning the grin

and his eyes were large

dark blue empty circles

with his triangular teeth

shown gritted and full

while his words spilled

out from somewhere else

and his words more hideous

than his expression 

when he told me,

"I am you within"

Robin snow

this bit of chill

this bite of cold

the pale hand

not letting go

of the bare tree branches

this layer of fluff

it is just enough

to cover the green

so eager to spring

from thawing earthly beds

this here today

gone tomorrow snow

that reveals nights

and hides away

morsel crumbs from robins