Constricted

The ties that long constricted her
Are there of her own choosing;
The method to her gladness; whether
Using or abusing

And now she sits beside a man
She doesn’t really know –
Allowing him a privilege
He hasn’t really earned –
She’s there in dazed bemusement,
Not quite sure why it is so –
But knows the ties that cut too deep
Are just like being burned

There is a type of battle that
Is deadlier than swords:
And everywhere she goes, she fights
Against
Her self-made
Cords

The Poet Transacts

He heard: “You’re just a poet. Write your words
of common things, within your daily span:
Don’t try understand what’s past your reach;
Do not essay to plumb the depths of man.”

He left his money there, as he was told,
And walked out into emptiness and night —
For much within this city never glows,
And many who are smart are not
That bright

The Weak Survive, Too

They told him, “just the strong survive.”
But he does not believe that, much —
A type of mere tautology
Because strength is defined as such

For he’s known weakness, indolence,
The need for frequent healing —
But he survives ’cause he’s refused
To ever give up
Feeling

Regatta

Between the many sailing boats
The made up the regatta,
He heard the lapping of the waves,
An infinite sonata —

The sun was high and glittered wide
Across the water’s surface;
And expectation, stored for years,
Began to make its nervous

Way up, to where he manned a sail.
His hands bore new stigmata —
To be reborn out on the waves,
The life of a
Regatta

The Tree of Truth

Out in the field of meriting,
Beside the tree of truth,
We walked along and talked when we
Were in the throes of youth.

You spoke of all the people you
Would help for free one day;
The years have gone, and sure enough
You’ve lived your life that way.

For young dreams are not foolish ones:
They give our life it’s savor:
The “you” you first saw in dreams
Has long-shaped your behavior —

Out in the field of meriting,
The snow has fallen white,
The tree of truth has lost its leaves,
But it will be alright

For you’ve been true to who you are,
To be the man you ought;
While I, your interlocutor,
Most certainly
Have not