Picador

I am wondering if I can hang on to this lance.
I made this myself from finest woods, even I
am not ashamed to admit I am proud of my effort.
It is not the job I wanted, only my love of the horse
lead me here, I had not known, I had not trained
for this endeavor. But the matador has my strings
if I can be said to have any- only a metaphor-
I assure you. I am resigned to knowing this is
my last fight to prove my courage, for I have heard
rumors they have outlawed this bloody, beautiful
sport. And, yes, I know the matador is the hero, the
one they all come to see, he is indeed stunning, yet
I must face the bull first and take the power of his
neck from him; I don't want the horse to get hurt,
never knowing if the bull will charge...Picador.

In the Cold

Last evening, as I trundled through the drive through at my electric company (Sawnee EMC...ooh, I'm a member!), I commented to Reid, "I love paying the Sawnee EMC bill."

He looked at me like I had two heads....No, not really. He is 15, so he didn't care much. But he did say, "Why?"  I said it was because every month I pay the power bill and there is a tiny sense of comfort that our lights and heat will stay on another month. One thing I don't have to think about.

I don't really think you can tempt fate, but...life does play its little jokes on one, doesn't it? Last night the furnace went out. Actually its a heat pump, but whatever. I have some space heaters, but it was freezing last night, so the house can get cold very quickly, and it isn't well insulated or anything. So, here I am waiting for the repairman to come, who hopefully can fix the problem. Drinking hot tea...sitting next to a heater...oh well.

You know I'm always always looking for the message. This presents a lot of possibilities for a message, but for now I'm keeping them on ice, till I see if there is a thaw after all.

Sinful

ripping pages from a hardback book, he said that is sinful
he couldn't look-just like I couldn't hear any more of her garbage
about her years of struggle and life after life of being murdered
enough is enough, it was a bad book to start with
very few books have I ever abandoned, I can name two
learn to give up faster and get on to what is good
not easier, not more "in the world, in the ego" gibberish like
these bad recipes I will never make, except for two
so I tore them out, ragged from the spine
not a crime because I own it and
I'm not the first, don't you see no one needs a book full
of poor possibilities and worse,
I will make maple walnut fudge and nothing else, the rest of this
worthless tome to the goodwill to the fire to someone
just not me.

Going Public

suddenly it becomes a service
going public with the knowledge
accepting
that everything decays,
we will eventually dismember,
that someone will walk over us
and wonder.

reading names on squares in the grass,
the wind passes nothing on its lips,
over the tongue and under the teeth,
it's only from the silence we learn
that bones break and flesh tears.
Pain walks on ten legs
with twenty hands,
subjecting itself to neither love nor hate.

leaving its mark on the carpet
which springs back forgetfully.

best to know
better to serve love
we only have each other
for a while.

Sylace

No Matter the Outcome

there is a moment
when I am gone,
the bones of my hands flying faster
than the surety of the outcome,
that you are relieved
by my absence,
the devastation of my presence
a bubble of blissful air
that has popped,
when you, for a second,
breathe deeply in the vacuum-
before crushing compression
of your heart muscle,
starved of the oxygen
you hate to want
and resent to need,
compels you to call silently
please come back, and
bring your hands,
no matter the outcome,
no matter,
I must have the key...