Bridge

No beams or trusses―

just a simple span of obstacles,

make-do suspension, stubborn enough to find a way,

woven one sleepless night at a time.

I take only memory, ditch the bangles.

Each step aches freedom, dreads narrow spaces.

I want to run―but sidle on―frayed ends exposed

as rope unravels, sways so violently I cry out.

Cavernous echo! I dare not look down;

fear the unknown, some great fish throat.

I hear your voice―and remember

this temporary means from here to there.

tk/April 2015

Lovely dramatic read by R.A.D. ...

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Regular Melancholy

There must be something

other than ringtones.

I need freedom with a heavy clapper.

The steeple in my road is silent.

You show me a cathedral with a crown,

tell me about the chimes.

A flat, E flat, A flat, C.  Ascending.

I find the notes on the piano,

imagine the clang of hours.  A clock,

not yet time.  Pick my thumbnail

like a dewclaw.  Crave

a farm bell, a cowbell.  Anything
but this incessant death knell. 

tk/September 2014 

Another elegant read by the dashing R.A.D. Stainforth... 

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Free

Late Sunday risers

consider briquettes.

Samples in paper cups. 

Frankfurters.  Beer.

Fresh from church,

a dressed couple prattle on

about which brand of chicken

they can afford.

She pokes her finger

in fleshy shrink wrap,

looks at him with spaniel eyes.

He thumbs a calculator.

All too happy not to be

duly plucked, pantyhosed,

bibled and heeled―

I hum muzak,

toss a breast in the basket,

without discussing

price, or the freeness
of its range.

tk/July 2014


R.A.D. Stainforth enhances my words...with the addition of Stainforth Blue to his black and white world... 

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