It tastes like a graveyard

cloying ashen blue

turn away from cold straits

and into the shining


vanguard of angels

selling yesteryear

cut-throat patients

splitting wide open

fastidious formulation

of ideas and fears

pyramid in solitude

awaiting the accounting

observing the arrival

the harlot needs

a hand-out

We weep quietly

no one can recall why

contemplative faces in a crowd

of strangers

Emotional truths

behind closed door

circle the wagons

a chalice of communion

remembrance of the pain

from long ago

gives us the strength of


and hope for the


waste not in silence

but speak

the word of Solomon

the darkness will call

your name

may the shield of faith

be your guide

perilous consolations

pay dividends over time

And I am so uneasy

in failing tragic courtesy

pensive and above it all

prickling skin alive

follow the scenic protocol

and try to feel alive….

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