The Mill

The Bar.

“What’s up stoopid.”

Tara sat down across from me, her brown hair blocking the clock on the church across the street. Fortunately , part of the sun as well.

“What is that brain working on now? Who brings a book to a bar anyway?”

I stared. what do you want Tara?

I had to admit, it felt weird coming back home…the mills closed. Empty buildings, like coffins, waiting for their dead or a hotel with empty floors…just shadows of memory.

Tara smiled, lit a cigarette,

You know, you have to be 21 now.

Hey, we‘re all older.

She laughed.

I closed my book.

Asking myself why I came back home…but I really, already knew.

Maybe that was what bothered me.

Tara hadn’t changed that much. She had a way of moving through the weights and the hard moments. Seemingly unscathed.

I was not so lucky.

I took a breath. Feeling flashes of my childhood walking past me in the street.

Bleeding Ink (drowning)

This room slowly fills with water

I’m adrift

Not at peace

Just adrift

Hollowed gray

My insides have long burned out

As have my eyes

I listen to the words in my head

The birds of prey

Fall from this night sky

—-

Similar

(Whispers)

(Voices)

Echoes

From outside the door

I can feel myself

Getting bad again

I am becoming

The me

That you never

knew

He hasn’t been around much

I am trying

Against all pain

The room drowns out

All the daylight

I keep giving away …

Giving away

I’m going away

(I’ll never say)

(Hiding)

It’s all so clear

The room disappears

—-

And all the time

Falls from the clock in the kitchen

Where we hid our weapons

Even you

Can use

And

I won’t confess

It’s a drowning

I’ll write no words

All this time

All this time…

Beagle in the City #264

Francis: Did you bring me a snack?

Ethan: Oh shoot, I forgot the snacks.

Francis: So no snacks?

Ethan: I thought you had the snacks…

Francis: I ate all the snacks. Those were last time snacks. This is this time. What about next time?

Ethan: There will definitely be next time snacks.

Francis: Snax

Olympian

In the winter of your youth

With the rains on your back

You’ve heard all the stories

You grew up with them

You’re not looking back

——-

And it’s no use to sit and wonder why baby

These times

They’re our times

If you don’t know by now

—–

She keeps petals in her pocket

To keep the winter from changing her

And it seems

She’s circled by the news

Gunshots in the distance

They’re bagging up the hope

For all the dreams

Out in the street

——

She’s out talking among the trees

In her bare feet

Feeling the dirt

To keep her fires burning

——-

If you don’t know by now

These days are Olympian

These times are changing

——

And it seemed that knowledge was flooding the gates

Bloodied by the truth that waits

But time,though it froze

It did not hesitate

To cease the people crying

These days are our days now

Do what you will with them…

But history will not hesitate

To relate

What happened here

At the closing of that long dead year…

December (2019)

Maybe it’s a gut punch

Nauseous

Mornings

Hidden

evenings

Do you even taste victory ?

Thorn in my side –

I don’t look for permanence

I don’t look for needle & thread to bring about some kind of strand for hope

I fight to live

My best life

Every day

I play the cards I’ve been dealt

Like it’s the ones I wanted

—–

Gut punch

Hand down my throat

Just to find release

I can’t even sleep

—-

I’ve changed…

—-

Dark earth

I can feel myself getting bad again…

The heart breaks

And it leaves its shadowed scar over my skin…

I wake up and for a moment

I’m cut open again

All of my pain

The flame

Is burning in my gut again

I close my eyes

And my breath is short

My throat is dry

And I’m held down

Swallowing the tube again

Pump this broken heart

Cut it out

I don’t want this

Take this from me

—-

Gut punch

You start to live with purpose and intention

I’m not supposed to even be here…

you hold to things loosely

So you continue to grow…