47 Inches The rain has saturated my very soul caused my heart to swell and crack caused my eyes to blur and hallucinate golden sun the rain has saturated my very soul waterlogged my spirit and made my tears invisible. copyright2017caceresbg Advertisements
What He May Be He may be an artist he has a kind face eyes that see yours briefly as he passes you on his way around the block ragged blanket dragging off his shoulders. He may be schizophrenic researchers think they have identified the … Continue reading Poem
Knocked from your pedestal by the truth
we are no longer strangers
are a gift to this family
without blood as a binding agent
they are here by grace
and cannot be bullied by your family name.
He wants to fire me because I don’t share his love of numbers
but how can I love that which is like dust;
colorless and ubiquitous?
Forcing into the soft palm of my hand those sharp edges
of sevens, fours and ones
he grins the way insiders do
and I smile with crazy 8 eyes
and force my lips into a big zero.
Rough Diamond Like charcoal I absorb your poison Acrid smoke And all the attachments you carry Anxiety rides the air on wings Not gossamer, not silk Wings made of plaster Like charcoal I compact, constrict, confine myself To a small corner Sucking air through a … Continue reading Poem
Two Little Boys in June
His arms had no knowledge of how to hug
and so he hugged toys
and his heart was carefully guarded
behind a wall of plastic and metal
his sense of security
sealed inside a box of sweet cereal
His friend couldn’t catch a football
knowing only how to cling to stuffed animals
his heart too
protected by isolation
and a wall of soft fatherless kisses
in a bedroom without a bed.
They found each other on a dusty road in June
dirty jeans and hands
playing with rocks and gravel
in a city far, far away
on a lonely street
where two little boys used to live.
In The Days That Follow (published in Deep South Magazine 2014) Gravity pulled color from the Irises into soil so heavy the garden became a pond of mud where cardinals flailed their wings and died. You watched from the kitchen window your breath in the … Continue reading Poem
Four years of loss. The Chinese fear the number four. Some even refuse to live in a house with the number four in its address. From 2008 to 2012 I endured a series of painful events, events that forced me to look at myself and … Continue reading About “The Hierarchy of Weeds”