three blue candles

three blue candles in a row
where she knew she shouldn’t go
in a room of closed desire
smoke now circles ever higher

lying thoughtlessly has crept
promises have not been kept
but she does not care somehow
in the feeling she has now

for the burning justifies
broken vows and sequent lies
as she bobs her pliant head
three blue candles by the bed

The Sun Sets on the Standing Stones

The widsom that I seek seems out of reach.

The sun sets on the standing stones.
The clouds, the moon, the stars still move in track.
The widsom that I seek seems out of reach,
And questioners and doubters, still catch flack

Especially from those who pose as questioners.
These hunt down searchers with great indignation:
Returning then to palaces of folly
In orgasms of self-congratulation

About what was…

Flawed —
That’s a word we use when we’ve carelessly destroyed things.
We empty our emotional shelves, and
Clean out the closet of our memories,
But carefully retain our excuses, because
Those are the ultimate image filter.

And one more time, it’s about what was:
And the next what-is that’s about to become what-was —

But that’s what happens when you’re “flawed”:
You strip the beds down,
You strip the house down,
But you sure as hell
Aren’t stripping yourself down

The winter highway calls me home…

[Originally published 12-17-2015]

The winter highway calls me home
To where my love lies sleeping;
For I have carried secrets long,
Far past their time for keeping

The many roads I’ve driven on
Are fading, as the light
Comes timid with the nascent dawn;
I see an end to night

How many habits must I break?
How many lies be spoken?
The time is now for me to take
And fix all that I’ve broken

The winter highway calls me home
To where my love lies sleeping;
For I have carried secrets long,
Far past their time for keeping