Black Black Crows
Why does God send crows to mock my dawn?
They resurrect all that is wrong
with deeds standing on my shadow,
with dogs growling at my heels.
My mind, my heart, I cannot explain
a guitar left out in the rain,
or my path, my direction;
coins lost beneath couch cushions,
small matters to reclaim,
a time-weary tale to tell,
a drunk lounge singer’s song.
This runner is too weak to sweat
in this race that’s much too long.
God, disperse these crows before tomorrow’s dawn.
Broken Homes
Broken homes, people pieces,
snapped stick figure children
lay strewn, angry, idle.
Shards cannot complete a puzzle.
They drift upon a vapor ocean
then sink below footsteps, concrete and crust.
Tides of lapse, relapse, and collapse
beat upon bleak sand.
Sunken time capsules bulge and erupt
broken vows, worn tattered promises,
shame, blame, rage and blood.
A sea of grief has no horizon.
Sighs that drive listless waves
pound upon bleak sand.
Winds have died
and groans cannot fill a sail.
Poker
It’s a game,
like a fist fight,
or collecting rent,
or stealing drugs
from grandma’s purse.
It can be fun.
Fish and chips taste so good,
especially when they tilt.
They cry.
If you’re going to feel sorry,
don’t sit here.
Do arithmetic. Read a book.
Go have a smoke or something;
but don’t sit down
if you can’t get hurt real bad
or beat some nice guy all in.