tomorrow’s seduction

tomorrow’s seduction comes like this: we wonder what’s behind the glass, and climb to find a place within, then hide our face so we can pass as someone that we’ve never been — it isn’t right. but is it wrong to give up and give in when we would give it all to just belong?

Weatherbeaten

The wind and rain have seasons where they will work their ways; They wear us down, eventually, But it is no disgrace To live the years, and show the years, for as time goes, we follow -- And there's a peace that comes at last, when we are still and hollow

A Spacious Vanity

To be vain In vain’s In my veins. Nonetheless I show my Spacious vanity And hope there To impress But why — I cannot tell you why, It is both Fact and shame, For though some bathrooms Glow and shine, They all still Smell the same

I Talk Too Much

I talk too much, I always have, Much to my family’s misery; The rare days that I’m quiet are When they can see the best of me And so I took up blogging — writers Are forgiven monologues — To write of common things, and see The glory in the underdogs And yet, I have … Continue reading "I Talk Too Much"

Aging

I do not seek the music of violence, For I know only too well that The world will bring it to me, anyway, And too soon. For so long, my eyes have been unclear; For so many years, have I strained to see — This is the dim mirror of my regret, These are once … Continue reading "Aging"

Self-Portrait 63.2

I wish I was the summer sun So I could burn my enemies, And cause them to rethink their lives, Regret the extra calories — But I am more like a balloon: One may not notice that I’m there, And I’m archaic, overstretched, And filled with nothing but Hot air

like me, the grass

like me, the grass stays new by constant shearing, closeness to earth, sun, and water, and all that happens beneath the surface

Snapshot: Pecan Orchard

The aged have seen off many years, The wise ones understand — The orchard’s slumbering, and cold, As is the land — I wish that I bore other fruit, But from this, there’s no fleeing — The tree that I was born to be I’ll end up Being

Self-Portrait B

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