I finally found my voice.
I heard it in the morning.
It finally came to me.
It began and ended
just at the right point in time.
The sound seemed exactly
as I wanted it to be.
It had a rhyme.
It had a rhythm.
It felt like me.
It was authentic,
at least the way I feel.
The tone is right.
It is not too loud,
and not too soft,
just right.
It does not matter
what the other doina was.
It does not matter
what the following doina is.
My doina

delivered me back in the dark shadows
and the underbelly of the web,
where impossible mission
to differentiate the outer limits
cast by edge of night
essentially rendering a twilight zone
where obscured criminal activity
clear as day in retrospect,
versus earlier this month
when yours truly gung ho
obediently got a crash course
in cryptocurrency and electronic
of human bondage
blindsided to the Potemkin Village,
who never heeded the red flags
now forced me to revisit

Tattoos
An artful map
Etched deep for all to see,
With every mark it sets one free
Imprints

“Grow up!”
they said when
my tears trickled
like the creek on our
family farm.

“Grow up!”
they said
when I got angry
like the old, black bull
in the back pasture.

“Grow up!”
they said
when I twisted my ankle to
look like the huge zucchini
Poppa took to fair.

“Grow up!”
they said
when Brambles was
taken from the hutch by
that red-eyed weasel.

“Grow up!”
I said
when their tears gushed as I
escaped Momma, Poppa, and
our ramshackle homestead.

Where do they come from
these words that well up out of the blue
nowhere, thin air
memories of past times, other lives, dreams
streams of consciousness, forced rhymes
jibber-jabber nonsense thrown down
borrowed, surmised
surprises welling up with the sunrise

Sometimes it seems
they come across the ages
surge up from the deep, across the sea
flow from way up high
course down valleys, echo through canyons
careen off ravines
to pierce the soul like needles
pushed by a hidden hand

Give it to me
Father some health
Because I just don't
Have any more good health
Also Father
I am a little old now
And I also suffer
From depression
For a long time now
Also Father
It is hard for me to live
With depression my
Father
I must tell you
That also I take some narcotics
For my depression
Every single day
Night and morning
I never skip a dose of
Narcotics
Give it to me
A good night's sleep
Every single night

In life's journey, there comes a turning point,
A pivotal moment to brave and anoint.
When paths diverge, shadows seem to surround,
Yet in this crossroad, true strength can be found.

Sometimes it's a choice, a decision to make,
To tread familiar ground or take a new stake.
With courage as our guide and dreams as our light,
We must embrace uncertainty, take that flight.

i unravel
not like a ribbon but like rope—
wet, splitting at the seams

you turned, smirking like it was a game
like breaking me was just physics
so clean, so unmarked

you the one always slipping off the hook
"poor you"—the story you sold while i sank
bare feet on loose earth
always moving, never mine

i learned to float, lip-bitten
quiet through the avalanche
your lies piling in my name

but my arms stayed strong
cradling the small ones
keeping their heads above the froth

Molière’s Chair

He wore the mask before he knew the play,
a carpet-seller’s son with ink-stained hands,
who traded silks for satire, night for day,
and walked from law into the laughing stands.

They threw him apples—baked, not sweet—
when tragedy betrayed his earnest tongue.
Yet still he bowed, and found in comic beat
a sharper blade than any hero swung.

Walking strong,
feeling free!
Just what life has
made of me.

People out
on the street.
Find a way
to succeed!

Everyone's
compromised,
by something dark,
deep inside.

Whether your
right or wrong,
We sing the
same old songs.

Followed with
strength to see
,just what we
want to be.

If you can
hold the truth.
It just might bring
you peace!

Never allow
yourself.
To let your thoughts
govern you.