Time, Time, Time
but not the way it’s read on a clock
and not in a fuzzy way storytellers mean
but Time
the way Waits sang it
with wind making speeches
not men full of bluster
with saints inhabiting dreams
not self proclaimed saviors
with fiddles playing
til he comes back again
Time
gusty, gravelly
truly, terribly
surely, shudderingly
Time
with no breaks
moving ceaselessly
sweeping everything in its path
Time
like Waits sang it
with storm clouds
with dusty spangles
with stale scotch
Time
Witty Weapons
Hiding behind wit
There’s a world of hurt
Maybe
Or a mask
Of pure disdain
Everyday drudgery
Mediocre minds
The flow of words
A weapon
A tool for mass condescension
Either way
Get back in the ring
With the stuffed shirts
And let’s see what’s festering
Behind that calm mask
Love, Lust, and Flannel
Soft flannel brushes my skin
Falls to the floor
The grooves of your fingertips
Search for answers
I couldn’t give before
Poetic Despot
He despised stupidity
A self proclaimed genius
That only brought him deep loneliness
– and anger
“Why can’t you be smarter?” he railed
to no one and everyone
He tried beating the stupid out
but that only brought bruising
He tried cajoling, threats
but they only brought confusion, fear
He preferred old shirts
with holes and stains
to hide his greatness
that no doubt shone
He walked humbly
and talked mercilessly
and made impressions everywhere
like litter in a forest
He was a tyrant at meals
a dictator with subordinates
a pig with women
yet was sweetly tortured
A poetic despot he remains
The Child Remains
I’ve often wished for beauty
I think I had it once upon a time
I found an old photo
Where my eyes shone
I was a child
Who only knew simple things
like love, fairies, and dreams
But then somewhere
along the way
that shine was taken
wrested from me
And with each blow of the fist
and each threat of the belt
every hateful, ugly word
came a little more of the world
with its fear, anger, confusion
I don’t think I can be
beautiful again
any shine I’ve tried to put back in my eyes
was chemically induced
and never lasted
But I can aim for dreams and fairies and love
in no particular order
because of that photo
where a child had hope
and thought she could be anything
before anyone could tell her otherwise
and I think somewhere inside
that child remains
and I love her
The Word Rummager 