Tethered Love


scratching at hidden scars

plucking on unstrung guitars

re-freezing my halo of thorns

& lowering it over like a noose

beneath the wild rose moon

of a love once tethered

upon the ladder top

ready to leap

to become a cemetery secret

that made the ghosts too scared to speak


don’t dare

whisper of a future

carried in sun trails of dust particles

spreading the silenced news


spare saying

the grace of honesty & trust shared

is as easy as the daily rising

sun of tomorrow


sorry, but

you remind me of somewhere

I’ve could’ve, should’ve,

& don’t dare be…



(100 words)

Re-shuffling Loss

shadows loom

over another loop

a balance between womb or doom

across woven, complex, delicate lines

within the infinite tapestry of time

as mannequins shadow candlelight

stumbling over scattered bones

ghosted on the river of wrong

& wasted last chances gone.


So too, was the  last book collected

 chess pieces sorted

divided items selected

boxing airless dream bubbles

with no more mind games to play.

For every part of this precious tragedy

they played their parts with tortured hearts

beginning the end of their pawn shop shuffle of separation

… all while the scratched record played the permanence of all the things

their love never got to say.




Life’s Detour

It was a gravity crashing,

 star crushing,

 kind of morning

as a kaleidoscope of spinning planets

with unlimited, unanswered questions,

headed for catastrophe


for the prettiest snow flower of a day-dream.

He wanted to sit beside her

to carry her candle

shielded in a cracked glass

against the edge of the sun’s stolen storm of time.

Yet, silently he stood at the airport,

and stared

 at the prettiest hangman’s rope he ever saw

wishing he held a sign that read:

‘Pick me as your next life detour’.


A regret he never did forget.