She Lies in the Middle

old womanShe lies in the middle of the street
kicking feet
flailing arms
a dying insect on its back trying to recover life

“Oh God you have forsaken me and my children
I cry but do you listen? Do you care, God?
I would damn you but for the fear
you would damn me first.
I am old and lost and you do not care.
I am poor and do not eat.
My clothes are torn and ragged.
My love for you is greater
than your love for me.”

While shaking the plastic cup,
at those rushing past in the shadows
her eyes screaming, “Please”

Sobbing, striking at demons around
she stops looking at those around
then struggles to her feet,
a torn month old newspaper of a person
hunched and like a matter of fact
goes to a nearby diner
orders a cup of coffee, cream, two sugars…

“How ya doin Mildred?” the waitress asks.

“Not bad. Eighteen bucks
but gotta tell ya the damn street’s
cold tonight killin’ my back for real
maybe I’ll go work over by Western”

sipping coffee, shivering, sobbing
brushing her disheveled hair away
“ashes to ashes, dust to dust”
rocking a non-baby in her arms
“the child shall pierce your heart”
caressing sorrow stroking sadness
“where else would I go”
the tears streaming across her lips
muttering her life story again.

“It wasn’t my fault.
It wasn’t me.
Damn you.
Damn you.”

 

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She Lies in the Middle

Losing a Poem

Is this a poemwoman walking away
or just words
flying by like
red winged birds
the days are light
and old men sight
the openings
and closings

Mesmerize
and hold
the prize
like old sold
soiled spoiled
well worn ties
creating a simple
foreign guise
within subways
both ways

You could say
or you could not
put the children
in the slot
and make them
laugh a lot
when you say
you have a snot
that you forgot

If you really love me
really, really love me
won’t you sally
across my fields
tasting my grains
of wheat and corn
and not leave me lonely
shorn and forlorn

This is not a poem
it’s just words
like your love
not love at all
breathing practice
in the hall
toward the stairs
going up
or going down

A forgery is being played
a bright light in the shade
making children giggle
while you snicker
and feel astute
and rather cute
because I lost you
like this poem
long, long ago

Losing a Poem

Oozing Colors

did you hear thatJust an artist painting
in thoughts carefully culled
across a canvas of vast
glorious mesh of electrons
feeding colors

Here screams a galloping calamity
there frets a feathered fawning
around the edge a contusion
inside the outside of others
eating colors

You see his art at the
very edges of your vision
in the peripherals you see
and if it moves you will
feel it more than hear it
touching colors

outside lies a breeze
to catch on a brush tip
inside a breath lies
waiting for the knife
to cut, drag and pulsate
withering colors

Surely you think you know
what it is all about for
where there is art there
is meaning to be grasped
pulled tightly to the
heart of the colors

hand him a clean brush
please

Oozing Colors