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The Ambulance Ride A Lesson (Poem)
there with the stretcher
a cane propped beside the door
in bed
fever-glazed, coughing-seized, weakened
laughter at my slow crawl
the ambulance bumping
bewilderment over casual cruelty
slamming doors
faint words of thanks unheard
a text
a lesson
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My Death In My Hand (Poem)
He offers this as a gift.
Black and neon green, it could be anime.
Lighter than a ceramic cup, it could be a toy.
The bullets make it real. They look like what they are.
Good intentions unmasked; detailed directions to the grave.
Black depression now armed stalks me through the back streets.
Overhead the waiting raptors kettle as they keep watch.
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Walls Are Hard. Words Are Harder. (Poem)
I want to shut my eyes, to cry.
I’m tired, wearied to my bones
By conversations where I’m thrown
Again and again
Against the concrete walls of your expectations.
I lay crumpled on the ground,
My grief purpled by darkening bruises.
The walls, once white, are bloody and stained.
Where do you look, when you turn away?
