Aftermath

this morn the dawn lingers stale,
festered of travails born of eve last
enveloped in yesterday’s promises
still-born of a serrated Night
~ ~ ~

Heat

I am scorched
marred of your fire,
ever stained.
ascend with me,
lay sweltering midst mine ashes
slow water me of your Rain

Disparate

in thoughts parlayed at dawn’s window, thumb in pocket
could be me but I don’t ache chronic of a six foot leap
nor my guts beat hardened of lye, steady lunch of life
nor beset of Camels affection, struck early of an older age
sure-bound to be bound alone in pine
and gone at sixty Nine.

                                           ~ ~ ~