It Is Your Life

From inception
In the womb
To launching
Into adulthood
And onward
It is your life

Do as you choose
Wonder, as you may
Take it serious
Or treat it like a disposable
It is yours
To name and to date
As shaking up history
Or barely making a motion

Surrounded by an atmosphere
Encapsulating you in the midst
Between blue skies
And grey clouds
And plaid and marshmallow storms
At the mercy of the deep, blue sea
Affronted by the idea of
A designated purpose

Aimlessly dancing
The blood stained feet
Of the ballerina
In a panicked flurry to be recalled
Grovels and climbs
Reaching for the safety
Of Mount Olympus.
Or retreating to another dream
It is Your Life.

Secret Lives

Secret Lives
Linger in the shadows
Of an otherwise sunny day
Staining the truth
With uncertainty
From the inside out.

Only partially living in the now
Concealing the lie(s)
With sugar coated smiles
And carefully catalogued containers
Of what was said
And what is heavily guarded and undisclosed.

Justifications and rationale
Rule the substantiation
Of false trust
In the name of protection for all
Like a cadaver sheet
Shielding any real emotional intimacy.

Summer white linen
Turns to blood
Inside the prison
Of “what have you done”
Preoccupying the lonely chambers
Of the heart.
Where all the separated-self-lives are gathered
For the Big reveal.

I’ve Got My Peace

I’ve Got My Piece
Of middle class America
Off the beaten path
Day by Day
Working over time
At the office
With no additional pay
A slave to the labor force
Endless piles of debris
Taking the trash out
Emptying the dishwasher
Paying the bills
Facing the spouse
And pretending
to responsibly raising the children
and what is for dinner
and how many calories is lunch
Alone in the dark with the starlit sky
Planning retirement way too late
Watching from a deck chair
What the neighbor in balcony 2, next door
Might be up to from his fenced in yard.
Drained of devotion
Alone in the upside-down silence
Of the unspoken dream

When You Have A Problem

When you have a problem
There is always a solution
Keep a spare pack
In your back pocket
So as not to methodically slip
Into That impoverished path
Of despair

Can’t Fix A Broken Fence

Does he have to be wrong
To make the divorce alright.
Blame is such a funny word
Voiding one of any responsibility
Going on and on
With justification of self righteousness
And the parade moves down the street
To another town
Glitzed in the same old
Bright colored parachutes
And there is no reason to turn back
Give it one more glance of recognition
Before eventually, dying of denial.