no more clapboard storehouse

seasons merchant brings the harvest

flesh ripened berries and firm apples

john deere’s wander fields

barns fill with crop,

barricades still out against winter

last flush of heat clinging on

birds on the cusp of migration

still hold a note in song,

and i face my execution

she had wanted me for years

now i was disposable,

unable to plow fields

and seed a decent crop

inverted hearts adorn the page,

and i find the porch

for sleeping some more,

i wish the merchant did not

expect so much,

being a simple man

i was now to be abandoned

she could make her heart autonomous

it had to turn inside

beneath her maiden outlines

no flesh expanded as she expected,

evicted to the car

its vinyl bench with no pillow

woke one morning and drove

leaving her and her field

to be sown by another

in spring

poetry, poem , fall

Contemporary Feel

kiss her salty forehead

eyelashes smell like burnt toast

from the fierceness of tears

caught by angers inferno,

locomotive aorta

flicking beating faster,

then my hand stroking hers,

universe questioned in hazel,

my lamp lit blue wait

to respond,

i feel as blank as the sky

a traveler without path,

kisses no more unfurled

she pulled back,

the other hand drenched

in bitter spray of words,

before leaving,

i am a man with means

to render and isolate anger

to a pile of dust

this house she burned in

exhausted now slowly rotting

i loathed to take her in

moving amongst  my things

leaving her touch

on every waking

and sleep