I am the cracked and
crusty glaze On a stale doughnut, Fog surrounding a halted car, Toilet paper stuck to a shoe. Caught in a slow motion dream. Straining against gravity. Running...from what? The question burns: Love
Aliveness Feelings Burrowed long ago To visceral caverns. Gust, blood, bone Indicate humanity Yet the concept, In its fullness, eludes. This netherzone provides No doorways lit With exit signs. Prisoners too tired to grope Succumb to the darkness. They whimper in corners. Half truths and faded insight Permeating squeaky whispers. I am the bleeding soldier Praying for rescue, The writer straining at night Under a candle's Spit and sputter, The last winter rose Wrapped tight against cold winds, A wisp of color On a brief gray day - Amazing in Fortitude, Unfortunate in timing. Bear with me if you care; Perhaps one day The splendid young maiden Now trapped in the vacuum May find her way to Green fields of clover And run like a deer In crystal sunlight, Laughing, again.