The earth quakes in thunder claps

a hapless dressing for a proud sun

melting clouds enough for rain.

 

One is born, another dies

a constant neverland of never come again.

 

Proprietary glances dished out in advance

of something larger, much more engaging

than a pin prick, or head shift in shame

as the living goes so does the owning

of choices made along the way.

 

I do not look at you as just

or JUST,  I am only listening

for as long as I can before I have to go.

 

There was a man from Oklahoma

three pigs and a nagging wife.

He shot himself at midnight

could not live another day.

 

I am on the far side of the mountain

the purple water falls on rocks

in the shimmering moments of self pity

I too have wished for more.

 

ajs