behind, behind, behindkeep running, you’ll never catch upthe years have already passed you by, little girlno sense in breaking your legs to catch up with themlay down on the ground and cry your pretty little eyes outaccept your defeat and stop your whiningthis is the hand that God has dealt youdon’t ask questions about his…
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On this walk, as with all days,I move,until the moon,usurps the sun.The songs of life ongoing,do their best, to fill the barren space,you once occupied.Is it hubris,to say, you are the best there ever was.Daydreams of our eleventh hour,what I could have articulated, differently.How life could change so irrevocably in your absence.Why the sun burns…
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Maybe rain was comingin torrents, or snowpiled up outside the meagerlean-to the day maninvented fire.Maybe his legs were brokenfrom a fall down the sideof an icy mountain.The woman dragged himto his pine-bough bed.Confined, cold and hungry,he complained as the womannursed their insatiable babe. He drummed two sticksagainst a log to the cadenceof the baby’s sucking,rubbed…
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there is a short list of things you want right now:rest, comfort,a hand pressed against the small of your backpeace, rapture. but not the kind of rapture folks dream ofno final redemption hereno explosive joyjust his body next to yours it’s funny, you’ve decidedthat you seek rapture in the most sinful of kisseshis lips against…
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Is darkness onlyAbsence of lightOr individual personaA personal night. Does it gather at duskAnd retreat at dawnOr is it a twenty-four hourCloud that is drawnA personal darknessPersonal absence of light? No amount of sunCan ease the frightOf not knowingIf anyone’s home. Do you see meAre you entirely alone? Tom Corboy is a retired airline pilot…
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Something has startled mewhere I thought I was safest,where I thought I belonged,so I will follow Whitmanin avoiding the still woods I lovedand the fields where I used to walk.I won’t emerge from my hometo meet my friends in the open spaces,or hug them and share a coffee,there are no cafes anymore, in any case.…
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“A choice, made now, today, projects itself backwards in time and changes past actions.” – Czeslaw Milosz, quoting an unknown disciple of Karl Jaspers I made excuses, rejectingwhat I knew of mortality, eitheryours or mine, and suddenlythe black leaves grew greenwhere they had fallen and you,rapturous with rings on yourfingers, gestured to mefrom the courtyard…
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As I stand tallamid towering treesthe wind is my mistress,timeless mentor,enlightening guide. The wind is sentientlike this clear sky,like my spiritbrowsing a stratosphereway up high. Without wind we’d bebereft of oursupernal courier,and left wantingas if without color. As if without color,no blue waternor chlorophyllto give us greenand the food we eat. The wind can actwicked…
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I slept with someone who looked like youUnder the sheetsVodka visionSwiping your face with hisPlastic toy camera, slide show Diving into the square fantasyThe reel is blurryAnything close is good enough. He had a different laughForgiving dark eyesAttention directed at my chestEdge of a cliff, falling inCharming, genuine smileHis touch warm like tea in the…
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