but, flickering stars
still twinkle out here,
and it is always worthy
of a second look
with a kind breeze
caressing my skin
temporarily quelling
my serpentine urges.

yet, I remain the same
old before I was young
wearied of my battle
against contentment
choosing to linger
among the sslithering
confined within the squalor
of my complacency.

fasting to lean

senses sharpened from

the smell of the field.

lifting her head

the movement slight

in the wavering light

and not noticed.

the man is scheming

fattening to ripe

senses blunted early

to the fetid furrows.

stamping his feet

the movement thudded

in the black earth mudded

with strange imprints.

the low whistle

brings her to stance

his compulsive call

while scanning his crop.

the rattle of the chain

propels him to watch

her offbeat gait,

her quickening heart.

he resigns to the task

her doe eyes reflecting

greens and yellows..

the ending contrasting.

commanding attention

secondhand information

salivates your ego

as you taste it,

savor and relish it,

feeding your desire

to see another fall..

so, you sit up straighter

lean in closer

to pick the bone clean

in ironic desperation

to swallow the bitters

of the comically tragic.

now, here you are

with your belly swollen..

digesting your sins

as they digest you.

and discovered clarity,
despite your attempts
to shroud it from me.

Eventually though,
I will fall out,
and rise upward.

Closing all windows,
as I depart,
that lead to your dream.

Yet, I finally spit them out
with a nasty flair
to cut you deeply,
as was my intention.

However, it did not feel
like I thought it would,
there was no weight lifted.

I only self righteously
stained my teeth
and viled my mouth,
with careful planning.

His observation
of alternating glances,
revealed intention
to the clerk.

They defined love
in fluid movements,
placing their guilt
on a bedside table.

I have moved
deeper in the wood
in a cottage
freshly whitewashed
with yard tidy
where I will bake pies,
and tend a garden.

The sun will find me
in quiet solitude
walking the forest
with grandchildren
hand in hand
where I will teach them
to listen for poetry.

Across the field, the drifts I glimpse
as the white oak shudder in attempt,
the window pane begins to breathe
the screen transformed as if a sieve.

My hand moves up to clasp my throat
filled bittersweet as the storm provokes,
a pine tree snaps, a split jackknife
in rearranged environment so like my life.

Imagination rages in the prism of experience
heralded above,the night spews indifference,
I am as of stone, weighed to the spot
struggling to remember what I have forgot.

Entangled within is the message unknown
puzzling my soul, and then it is gone,
forever to be buried in ice laden snow,
and once begins thaw..I might never know.

It arrives suddenly,
Then quickly departs.

So I remember,
that to live is to feel
and sometimes,
it feels like hell.