the wind whips over the lake
its fingers touching the surface
like you touch me when we make love
soft and nice.
every now and then the breeze picks up
the water swirls and splashes
and we wake up with a bruise

a fading glimpse it whispers
thoughts of recent days
and your scent upon my pillow
still there but slowly fades…

brown and thrashing wheat
in winds grip
fields turning, quickly moving
from rain and plow.

distant fields upon the hill
small black dots of the workers
scythe glints in the distance,
behind them wheat is sown.

a knock upon my outer door
it opens out to no one there
i pace across the wooden floor
back to my studies and my chair

a scratching on the window pane
life the shade to naught but night
from here i move to bedroom rest
i lay there still with covers tight

a creaking on the wooden floor
in the dark near foot of bed
a cold and lifeless face appears
i lay there still and full of dread

and with a scowl it calls my name
i can feel my soul lifting high
and i look down upon my still
frightened face as I die

deceptive shadows. the floor.

we play nice at work
while we think bad thoughts
and curse
those we work with
mike and bill and john and pat
fags and gluttons and bullies and brats
raised and never taught a lesson
of how to treat people
raised
then debased with the dreams
of that promotion.

i am better than you.

Burning burning the house is burning
I lie on the smoke free floor
Embers lighting darkness brightening
I sigh as the smoke and flames soar
Writhing writhing the shadows are writhing
Against all the burnt burning walls
Flickering flames dancing and swirling
As I lie in the living room hall
Burning burning the house is burning
In distance the sirens they howl
Glowing and heating my life is retreating
As the flames encompass my soul

Awaiting the inevitable time when something is going to happen.
Shivering in the shade of a tree during autumns cold sun.
Standing beside a gravestone of a lost loved one.
Cold hands seeking a penny for a bite to eat.
Hard stone alley floors are your bed.
Fluid filled lungs, sickness death.
This is your life.
A new love and the laughter and anticipation that it brings.
Basking on white warm sands during the month of june.
Drinking an ice cold soda and relaxing in the park.
Putting on a new pair of warm cotton socks.
Wrapped in a comforter on a winters day.
You bring a new child into this world.
This is your life.

The page the page,
rising away uplifted by wind.
Fills me with rage.
The words the words,
penned in by unsteady hands.
Sting.
Sting me into a tear filled state.
Fingers fingers,
loosen and release.
The page the page,
uplifted by wind
fills me with rage.

I remember when you came home drunk,
how you stank of the bar and you stumbled knocking over the living room table.
You eyes were red and bloodshot, and your vision must have been blurry from all the alcohol you drank.
Laughing at first then you turned to tears, your emotions swaying like a leaf in a thunder storm.
“The alcohol can do that” I said as I tried to comfort you.
You just lashed out.
I went to bed and left you to your ranting, you can’t talk to someone when they’re drunk.