poems from the bin

when the sun

fails to fall

and the rain

is the only call

the patter

on the wall

blood soaked

in glorious roses

i saw too

the beauty

in too much light

in mother's blue sky

the night enfolded

it's mistrust

of all earthly lust

and i became

just another

lost cause
alone

and

gray

slipped

away

into

a dried black

that i attempt

to erase away

with

the blue blood

of my veins

stuck

poked

with

the pain

of needles

trying

to find a pulse

where

the night engulfed

the last time

i heard

my mother's laughter

i turned away

heard

Letterman say

something

so delightful

it made

her laughter

through

her impending

suicide

doom

feel

even

more frightful

i cannot find me

until i free

what's left

of the empty swing

the old tire

on the lonesome

willow tree

my child

beside me

the three of us

blended

in the old

black

and

white

photograph

of mother

in pigtails

my grandmother's

soft hands

contrasted

her worried eyes

wrapped tight

her arms

around my

mother

all pigtailed

and

blonde

a happy face

the human disgrace

that comes

with the solitude

and loneliness

that only great grief

can overcome

such lapses in faith

i have my doubts

i'll ever

make

this race

to the finish line

my potato head smile

turned upside down

into a silly

half smile frown

as i drown

in the glory

the morning peonies

pink

red

the

tulips

wrapped with foil

the innocence

the bird

that fell

from the tree

he picked it up for me
where is he?

where is he now?

when i need him the most?

mercy me
God, brother

and all philosophy

all spread

little wild bird seed

scattered

earthly desire
embalmed

in full tilt

behind me

my childhood

arises

in my cries

still

ours

sown together

blended

through

the bonds

of somehow

never carefree

hardly the innocent

lost half

free

little blonde girl

running field

first orange lily

a ditch flower

forever etched

orange

warm

as the sun

always seems

brighter

when young

bicycle wrecked brothers

on racing machines

we

happy then

time changes

the once

warm embrace

now

the mencacing

mocking

face of the world

twirling

a wrong

reflection

in a shattered

mirror

a picture

the only

reminder

of time's

gratitude

and grace

otherwise

forgotten

with the

shame

of the new

pain

that

erased

the child

from

the

light

heart

nothing

permanent

yet

i

am

marked

as

i embark

on the rest

of my

dutiful

days

of

doom

there

is

a

room

waiting