Thundering Rose

Funny thing the
mind can do,
when you find your
own mind looking at
you,

She lay across
her bed
at night
devouring
his love,
and pleasing him
right,
He brought
to her a long
stem rose,
and by the
morning
her love
would grow,
until the eve
he came to her
baring much more
than she could
endure,
Flashing eyes
of peircing green,
she knew the man
had bed another, and
now her mind was not
so
serene,
Her mind with no
soul, body of no
heart, she felt the
presence of man to
depart,
now laying at the
foot of the bed,
a black rose,
thorns brittle,
the love be
dead,

Funny thing the
can do,
when you find your
own mind,
looking back at
you~

The Bones’

Yes,
Lacking here, are the bones and armature,
the identifiable remains,
resisting particulars,
standing sovereign and linear,
intelligible.....

I have,
the fractured memory,
the after taste,
ash,
because I will not reach my palm
across a blazing bridge of skeleton,
support, relentless
with in it,
you may resist this slow map of ambiguity.....

Being placed in no one’s hand
in particular,
consider it
some little girl’s toys found,
out grown and abandoned......