Glass Houses.

GLASS HOUSES

The poor people live in glass houses.

That is all they can afford.

Once in awhile, they buy cakes for their children’s

Birthdays, but otherwise, they cannot afford a thing.

Hunger is a strange thing.  It gnaws away at your gut,

And affects your bones.

See with your inner eye.  Do not let crimson colors fool you.

I have found I am burdened by the darkness that surrounds me,

And nothing is more foolish than the darkness that is within.

Tell me why do you not listen to your innerself,

Why do you speak darkly?  I have no room to say anything

About you.

Memories spark anger that questions all of my yesterdays.

Tomorrow I may not be here anymore.  I am not foolish.

The love is in the darkness. 

The loneliness is in the flesh.

What is it like to be poor?  I wonder about that every day now.

I wonder about a lot of things, like the way you seem to trip over

The front door on your way into the house, the way you smile

At me sometimes, your eyes flashing brilliantly.

The crowd is in the movement.  Love is not always enough.

The Man In the Straight Jacket Whispered.

The Man In the Straight Jacket Whispered

The man in the straight jacket, whispered to me,

And said, “My eyes sleep in your dreams.

You dream of whipperwills and handbaskets,

Crafts and scones-dredged in silence, you seek of none.”

In my spare time, I walk to the grocery store,

Carrying a briefcase to put a case of eggs in,

And, talking to the cashier, I bring them back home

And fry them up in a frying pan.

Dusk creeps slowly around the edges of my living

Room, and ghosts speak to me, softly treading

Their footfalls on the linoleum.  The light goes dim.

A storm is coming.  Everything grows dim,

And it gets hot, and the hotness causes itching,

Growing quickly around my vision.

I wish I could escape.  I have nowhere to go.

I don’t have any money to go to a cheap-ass motel,

I don’t have any money to purchase alcohol.

I want to escape.

I cannot.

Where would I go?

I wander in my mind, looking for solace.  At last, I pull out

A book of poems and skim through it, words swim before my eyes.

Where does the loyalty lay?  In your heart, in your head?

I want something to eat.  My stomach growls.  I feel starved,

Naked, dead.  My eyes are dead.

I don’t understand anything but the aching in my stomach,

The pain in my heart.  I wonder where you are on this hot,

So hot, night, and the birds call to me, lonely.

Acquaintance With Time.

Acquaintance With Time

I saw her face, Time, so quiet and still.

I passed before her on the grass,

I did not know it was her until,

my watch moved slow as melting glass,

glass that I wished that I could fill.

She spoke to me; no words I heard,

for her beauty was bright to see,

 I could not speak but a word,

my mind fluttering like a frigid bird,

and then she walked away from me,

and I could speak again at will.