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The Fog of War

1. In light of this day, Jan. 4, 2024, I found that I was wearing the fog of war. Looking ahead, it appears that this unexpected garment will remain my daily clothing for a little while longer; at least.

 

2. The mist that surrounds is not kind.

Eyes hold no gaze,

Hands are forgetting the art of a touch.

 

A texture anticipated from a distant

Patiently

Seductively

Cares to drape my pulse

The Last First Days

1: My religion is interrupted.

Ringing in my ear – at times a friend, at times my nemesis.

 

Language twisted in welcomed grief.

Tell your truth – no more a friend, time positions your silent opposition.

 

This moment is-not the encounter of faith.

Ears hear no turning time.

Boxing Out of The Box

1. Steady hands

Throbbing pulse hides in the throat.

 

You told me,

Yelled at me,

Screams pierced Me.

 

A better version

of myself.

 

I learned to forget

about myself.

 

Steady hands

Empty

Silent

Linear and flat.

 

2. The door that welcomes

still welcomed.

Three times came fear.

 

The talkative mirror

Turned away.

No “thank you” shared.

 

Torn life lead the

walk of shame.

Microscopic focus

out of time.

 

Fourth fifth sixth coverings

hollow crowd-like sirens

Pace a gazel’s whip

counterpoint crawl.

 

The marriage of colors

steadfast in vows

First eyes open cold

Fear number four.

Remember

It’s complicated.

 

Questions asked,

Life changing questions.

 

Struggling in place

Directed ways.

 

Ongoing complications

 

Words desire an open mouth,

Intent chose another path.

 

Dead again each day

Mapping design shows no lead.

 

Complication veiled

complications.

 

Blind Complication

saw.

Deaf Complication

heard.

 

Complication changed

no-thing,

every-thing.

 

The sought for sight searched time.

Meaning looks more than these times.

I Was There-Not There

Calls were made

Directions had passed

Views claimed witness

 

I remained confused.

 

Slow was understated

Timely braved itself

Quick left behind

 

Clarity waved good-bye.

 

Words turned around

Knowledge queried heart

Tomorrow never arrived

 

Here was I

Not I

No.

 

2.

The mist that surrounds is not kind.

Eyes hold no gaze,

Hands are forgetting the art of a touch.

 

A texture anticipated from a distant

Patiently

Seductively

Cares to drape my pulse.

The Last First Days

1. My religion is interrupted.

Ringing in my ear – at times a friend, at times my nemesis.

 

Language twisted in welcomed grief.

Tell your truth – no more a friend, time positions your silent opposition.

 

This moment is-not the encounter of faith.

Ears hear no turning time.

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