Potholes and Vines
They leave great potholes when they pass away.
We tumble in so willingly.
Some are even given names...
like: "God, please help me"...
or "I can't go on without you".
At times they jar us back to sweetened times.
before the beast grabbed the throat,
When forever sat plump on virgin vines.
Nothing can fill these potholes.
Matter of fact, they get deeper and wider with the spade of time.
We constantly swerve around them, into the oncoming lane.
Face first into somebody else's pothole-pain.
These potholes are lonely-clever and join together.
Until every living breath becomes a big black hole.
Filled with things that fasten tight to death.
Dearest mother, hold my crumbling hand.
(spring vines of yesterday)
A forty-five-year climb from one pothole to another.
There's no peace for me until I become the pothole for another.
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