Were you coerced—

We all do what we must.

into forgetting me?

Some memories are too loud.

Was it a vow?

It was survival.

To trade my soul

You were born screaming,

for silence?

Or was it mercy—

I needed quiet.

the kind you confuse

with absence?

Do demons feed on tears,

Don’t be cruel.

or is pain something only just you dine on?

Did you always?

I scraped with splinters.

You asked too much.

A throbbing bass line, guitars that sound like chainsaws

cutting through steel, and vocals that soar, blast, and blind

like Beasts from the Book of Revelation. A frenzied mob. A pit

full of flailing arms, hands, hair and everywhere flying sweat and

cheap beer. Clearly a reaction to years and years and years

of repression.        Tigers pressing against the glass.

Finally

the glass breaks.

From my seat in my late fifties I remember the mania,

There is a gate to a Zen garden in Boston.

Sweating, sore from walking, shirt sticking to my skin, I see it.

Large-framed, fine-grained, and wise. Walking through, into a blazing

white rock seascape, granite bridges,

wild rabbits. This is another green world.

A thin glass wall oasis in the fens.

Another chance to erase the news.

To set fire to my anger and frustration. To see

what’s good right now. Trees breathing their dreams into clouds.

The distant car horns turning into singing geese, honking in tongues.

Slowly Making Friends

Peach Flavoured Jolly Ranchers

Falling for Insects

Through our life we have traveled down miles of by-ways and highways, 

Taking different routes to see which one is the right way. 

We make circles and turnarounds, never knowing if we are making the right choice.

With the Lord in the front seat and the Devil in the back, trying to decipher which is the right voice. 

All roads we are lead down are not good and most are horribly bad. 

Most given moments are truly happy while others seem depressingly sad.

Even though there are crooks and turns,