Tragedy used to

hold us in sway but these days 

it's just TV fare 

Cups runneth and spill

tea or wine or truths dribbling

and staining our lives 

The birds they sing it's 

spring, it's spring, days of joyous

rebirth and being 

Lord, let me feel the 

same joy as a dog romping 

unbound through a field 

 The stately elm so

alone pined for a forest 

or at least a copse 

My former home drenched

in the wild scent of jasmine 

at night calls to me 

The reflection warps,

weaving a false narrative 

from our circus world 

 

 The sky's the limit 

unless its falling again 

or so they tell us 

Guffaw if you like 

or stare in awe as the world

continues to spin 

In the darkness of

predawn the past and present 

intertwine and fuse

The graves of both the

victors and vanquished are all

carved out of cold stone

The sweep of vistas 

is lost in a headlong rush

towards some distant goal

Gulp down one more cup

of coffee to steel yourself 

for the coming day

A wild show arrives

to tantalize, but it's not 

for us, it's for bees

The minutes tick down

to mere seconds as you sit

waiting for gnosis 

 Like the sun burns off

the morning mist, let your heart 

quell the cloudy mind

The ghosts have lost their

home to time and decay and

now drift aimlessly 

In a fog so thick

I wandered alone worried 

it was inside me 

Sometimes secrets slip

from between lips but fail to

reveal anything  

Begin again — a 

tabula rasa, not new 

but scraped clean to bone

It's an everyday

apocalypse, like slowly 

boiling alive, blind

They will try to break

you but instead you'll thrive though

the wounds will run deep 

You squander the days 

on mindless fun and then fret

about the future 

We follow the path 

like our ancestors, with eyes

on totality 

Breaking points and broke 

down brakes screech out a cry, ask

'why oh why must I?'

The darkened corners 

and crumbling facades once

called me by my name  

A friend of mine now

only communicates by

meme and I don't mind

Heat waves rising in 

the parched noon air, cicadas 

singing, I recall 

Wait while the dust starts

to settle or until the 

taste of ash chokes you

She was willing to 

sell her soul but the devil

would not take her calls