I’m open to being closed;
like a day lily that froze
underneath night’s repose.

I’m open to being closed;
like a hand that only knows
the clinched fist of knockout blows.

I’m open to being closed;
like a long sought out book
whose secrets remain to be known.

I’m open to being closed;
like a quiet monk that turns
meditations on poetry into prose.

I’m open to being closed;
like an investigation of the heart
whose case is open, shut… closed.

I’m a
moonbeam
in the dark,
I got stardust
in my heart.

I’m an
empath
full of light,
making waves
that splash
across the night.

I’m a
phantom
hidden by day,
I can make
you levitate
in a milky way.

I’m a
gravitational pull,
reflecting back
to make you
feel something
visceral.

Nathan Bedford Forrest
back from the dead;
raisin’ up an army
of born again inbreds.

Marching across the South,
wish it was Sherman instead;
army drawing bloodlines
to empower red-hat whiteheads.

Raise up in fists
or democracy’s dead;
Constitution cutting floor,
Three-fifths of which we already shred.

inside the breezy lull,
walk away the painful;
nothing yet to collapse
one step away —
relapse.

head above
head held high;
thoughts pressed
across evening sky.

dear love,
I’m not alone;
forwarded a life
all my own.

the spirit’s here,
the spirit left —
exhale, my final breath.

there’s a private fury
they ask you to bury,
lest you forget.

in an act of favor curry,
they flatter every worry
until you become asset.

employ guilt in a hurry,
once you become jury
and question all of it.

your center bent blurry,
when truth scurries
past a mind that forgets.