Written: December 27, 2025
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How quietly your counsel shaped my days—
A lantern-mind that steadied all my doubt.
At your first word, my tangled maze displays,
My weak brain found logic—rise of burnout.
Now, I feel the void where you used to be,
A bare calm chills even the warm banshee—
Your wisdom drifting from my solitude,
To bless life—passion is known to obtrude.
No trusted compass now to mark my way;
You turn your tact to a different need—
So I must school my heart to bear the sway,
Of walking on without your gentle lead.
Yet still I praise what your eidolon splay—
It's sound thaws loss—it's buffer a heyday.
Black Veil
Concealed face.
Lament to the grave.
Elegy to a splinter.
Appearance never.
Obtrude often.
Never forgotten.
Write you a bloody letter.
Many miles to find you.
Elaborate to a puzzle.
Find my way to you.
You're a gorgeous deity.
Will you wait for me?
It’s too late.
Memories fade.
Black veil to sorrow.
Out of time tomorrow.
You vanished right by me.
Darkness burning orange shines.
You were the one.
Behooveth to the sun.
A cemetery holds our reflections.
Drown in liquor smoke as the sun sets.
Boiled temperature gauges persist moving toward some rise,
Besought naught obtrude yonder worlds prevailing demise,
Barn weathered vanes, dared storms, spun tightly screwed,
Bear breathless trickles of feigning serendipitously spewed,
Barren, a wasteland of previously vigorous grown knowledge,
Birth nebulous yon views lost revelation of scriptures pledge,
Blessed genuine patterns gift, obscured by grandeur, plagues hosts,
Beings ambitious proposal soulless, a world mature of ghosts.
2019 November 11
The key, for me, must be those onion domes.
Concentric skins, like Russian dolls, contain:
they don’t obtrude. Defensive rings explain
the posture. Let’s not bother Sherlock Holmes
with this one. Save Bill Bailey’s fine-tooth combs.
They feared for Minsk, like others fear for Maine.
The Wall was there, so brains would cease to drain
towards those tail-fins, all decked out in chrome.
They tried to build a comely comfort-zone,
a space to place a hundred home-grown flowers.
We couldn’t wait to see it overthrown
(Archangel, Wayne, Polaris, Gary Powers,
Capone, Stallone, Cohns, drones and Sharon Stone).
They wanted only to be left alone.
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