I don’t even know what death is.
I still wait for you to come home from work.
I sleep on the couch,
or the floor on your side of the bed
just to make sure I wake
when you finally come home.

Wearing all black,
tissue box in hand,
I walk to you and place a note
between the fingers of your pale hand
and kiss your cold cheek.

I held your familiar hands,
your rings were loose,
you've lost weight.
I heard your voice,
and felt relief,
it's still you.

I was afraid, I don't know why,
that this long, lonely week,
might somehow rip you out of my life,
it made me feel the fear,
the pressure of alone.

To think that it could happen...

Behind closed doors
Hide stories untold—
Bitter ones, sacred ones,
Better left unrolled.

Shattered in pieces,
Flooded with blood,
Wrecked and racked—
Eyes tonight are closed.

In Gaza.

Will I ever be
sufficient funds
in my mind’s
bank account?

Recently,
I have felt
like a check
that isn’t cleared.

Don’t ask me
how I see myself —
I fear I am
not equipped
to obtain
any credit.

I climbed many
mountains —
no income
to show
for it.

Suddenly,
I can hear
the wind whisper:
“You are no fool —
just an explorer
caught
in the eye
of the storm.”

He says:
Don't place your delicate
Hands in the dancing fires
Of love!

She says:
My blood is boiling
Through my veins
How could your Illicit
Love hurt me?

In the darkness
I can see our stars.
A rose, for one.

You, for another.
Imagine the crowded sky at night.
You are not alone.

Are we that self-absorbed?
We think death
has no tomorrow.

Did we create Earth?
Hold time in our palm
or even wipe our noses
as babes?

Tomorrow will come
whether six feet above
or six down under.

The watch did
not depart us
or miss a single tick.

Perhaps it
took a
deep breath,
feeling lighter—
until a new mother
hears the first
cries of their newborn.

Time is a
self-serving
myopic master
pressing forever forward.

Did you even say, "Thank you?"

We're all waiting for it,
yes, we are -

the appreciation, the bowing
of your head, the kissing

of The Royal Ass.

That Luke character from
the New Testament
knew a thing or two.

"For whoever exalts himself
will be humbled,
and he who humbles himself
will be exalted."

Look him up,
whydon'tcha?
14:11

Look away for tonight —
I summon every pen
to be ready for a war.

Pages become a war zone.
No cease fire.
Diplomats
informed to go home.

Patience called Anger,
airing grievances.
The heart expressed
the need to be
peacekeepers.

Anger interrupts,
saying,
“The time
of diplomacy
has run out.”

You tried to
bury your sins.
I stayed quiet.
Then you
resorted to
insults.
Still —
I was silent.

He built his image on the sand of celebrity,
a castle where all could admire and praise.
But he turned it into a circus for freaks,
and they paid him with their belief.
He promised answers, they heard salvation,
when all he did was make them defenceless.