We are related……but you don’t know about me.

After the StorSecrets, how to keep them…how to hold them, how to look them in the eye when they have burst open and flutter before you like the down of the pillow escaping…….secrets, I can just taste one…. melting on my tongue and disappearing forever

Resole Yourself

I stand strong, comforted, powerful;

wearing my favorite pair of cowboy boots,

the leather just worn enough,

the stitching

is nestled aptly light against dark

like word scrawled in a diary,

retelling the adventures of where they’ve been,

in these boots I can look anyone in the eye

without fear of them seeing too deeply,

I treasure every wrinkle of their wear,

as I treasure every wrinkle on my brow

their character defines strife, happiness, indecision

etched like the creamy white loops of stitching

 on leather Raven’s black,

dusty as if just bathed in a pond,

thank God I can step into them,

and feel all that is missing;

I treasure them more

each time I pull them on;

contented knowing that

I can resole a pair of boots

but the moment I avoid your eye

the tales of my own lustre

chance fading;

and I cannot be resoled

 

The Fallacy of the Artist

             The Fallacy of the Artist

I used to drink like….

Bukowski and Thomas;

Scribbling heartfelt prose

with a borrowed pen

 on a bar napkin.

The tears were there

But infused with the contents

Of my glass,

I swallowed them back

Like a true artist does

Dedicated to no one

but the fallacy of my art

masked as my true craft, pain