Signs
The sky is angry at me
maybe I have not reached high enough,
have taken the short-cuts
and missed the bigger picture.
It has been a tedious year
yet my friends are closer now.
Have I left any footprints
or has the pavement buried
my fleeting presence?
Some ask, why I don't publish
my mind into a poetry book.
I prevaricate, hesitate, negotiate
with impervious angels.
Time ticks on
my honeymoon with death
is getting personal.
I think I recall a former life
when I was the most golden
in a golden field of corn.
Tall with bold of eye,
but that being is now weary
of the way I have dictated his words.
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