erroded

I’ve twisted tendons
and callused my soles
from searching to meet you
on softer terrain
I’ve tripped up my words
and torqued my soul
from trying to meet you
on higher planes

But you like to lie
close to the ground
to limit perspectives
to single use views

taper expectations
to scraps of paper
thrown clear of anticipation
And any yearning
they may birth
crawling, trawling
scraping up traces
that may promise more
than what has been earned.

So I’ll tear up my efforts
useĺessly sown
in barren dirt
devoid of worth
beyond burying hurt
And never again
set sights or foot
on this trodden plain

notes from the sidelines

I’ve never been discovered
though I’ve been revealed
Never acknowledged
though nudged towards some seat
at the edge of the table
with no turn to speak

I’ve never been spotted
among the stars
or turned all heads
when I entered a bar
But I’ve been invited
to kindly take part
to fill dusty spaces
in vacated hearts
while they waited
for better options

So I never wager
but do what I can
And play in the sidelines
where few dare to glance
And if you should ever
catch my wandering eye
don’t ask me to smile
or give thanks for your time
Just take what you need
without blocking the sun

the hardest act

if you must act
concede
relinquish
withdraw
and let the play go on
beyond your view

sometimes the best
you can give
is nothing

dream catcher

Yesterday brought
so many dreams
the night deemed
impossible
improbable
impractical
impeachable
untimely
unlikely
unseemly
and unreachable

The night caught them all
and dragged them into the light
of morning and wisdom
and cutting hindsight
Those that survived
having turned and fled
a utile to-do list
rose up in their stead

still life

The spring sun rouses me
from my slumber
I stumble to the purpose
buried under last year’s leaves
My stash has been raided
as I awaited warmer days
The bones
picked clean of contentions
hold no pretension
of slaking my hunger
and crumble to ash at my touch
Ghosts of intentions
whet desires
I dare not mention
without raising hope
for the dead
dried fallen buds
crunching underfoot
as I make my way
to take my place
and make art of starvation
in this barren still life

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