Category: Poetry

I escape with none of them seeing.

I have aspirin, a potato, soup,             

and the cat—

for once again,

an unplanned trip.

They don’t know I’m gone

or to look for me

and when I return,

I am the same.

With the same loss

of tears

loss of time

aboard the same

craft

with no change in course.            

They don’t know I’m gone

or what I think

about regret

about loneliness

or about any 

thing at all

when I look in the face

of some brilliant moon

or their faces

because I never quite

step from the craft

having been gone

having been back.

…with apologies to Mark Twain

This is the last full moon

of our pseudo-innocence

rising wide at the horizon

and diminishing its arc

onto the stage of war.

A colorless sunset

announces this March moon 

announcing Aphrodite’s betrayal

as it slithers into the waiting arms

and anxious fingers of Ares.

This last full moon

of our pseudo-innocence

slides through a colorless sky

over colorless blood

bleeding from colorless necks and wrists

on colorless dirt

now turning 

black 

scarlet 

and

lurid with our guilt.