Stepping Stones

You use me;
walking from dry to dry
to safety and recluse
amongst the
cash and flow of life.
But

When you see me,
Standing upon firm
Rock and dry places
You notice
- as if suddenly -
hard edges and places that
might cut -
pale skin
and soft innocence -
and you doubt.

Only later will you know,
When you look back at
my
rocky
instability
and your
will
to             balance -
that this doubt
got you safely home
after all.

Returning

Starting again,
On a fresh morning,
Come back
Like a friend abused.
And it breaks me.
Apples rot adn on them
Bruises fester deeply;
Cuts leave scars
Tearing the grey flesh open:
Past rest presents
a suffering
And storms sag grey
In corners of dusty rooms.

Believe me, I'm Happy

Trees.
And lit up behind, they seem
A golden shelter of leaves.
The more wintered
Clutch the sky
Like withered hands
Of the old;
Holding on to a cause - lost,
Unknown.
Then the intolerable pile
Of human misery -
like old clothes
cut off the dead -
Sits undaunted
In clouds like
Smoke.

Wild Nights

While at life's tavern
I sullenly drank
A toast to dreams
That died.
The landlord pulled
More frothy ale
And spoke to make one cry.

Self Diagnosis

I draw boxes when I doodle;
I wonder why.

War Poem

With his last will and courage
He captured just enough ground
To be buried in.

Sucking the marrow out of life

Yes, I too drink in the wine of life:
But sometimes I must piss...