Posts for June 3, 2026 (page 9)

I forgot how it feels to stand 
Between mountaintops
A thin tightrope
Not a single whimper

How it feels to hang on
At my fingertips 
On a cliff’s edge
No doubt in mind

It all felt so easy
But now, my body betrays me 
Slowly decaying at my feet  

Can’t eat 
Without my stomach revolting 
Can’t sleep 
Without my back screeching 

Can’t stand 
To wash dishes 
Without feeling faint 

Maybe this is the time
Maybe I’ll fall 
No one to catch me 

No parachute 
Plummeting 
Till I hit earth 
A crater 
Within the dirt 

If I fall 
It’s no surprise 

Prepare 
Prepare 
Prepare 

For the worst 

Smile when it turns out fine 
Collapse into my twin sized bed

From a load of laundry 
Or vacuuming the floor 
Or wiping off the table 

Sweat shines my forehead 
My lungs call for help 
My arms talk to me 
Say I pushed too hard 

I know.
 
If I fall 
It’s no surprise 

If I fall 
There’s no one to catch me.

If I fall
Well, 
Let’s hope I won’t.

I’ve forgotten how it feels
To stand on my own 
For over an hour 
Head above water 
Without slowly sinking.

I see you

       You are                        far    away                                                                                                                                                                  across a lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng meadow

The wild grass is t  
                               a
                               l
                               l                                                                                                                                                    You are far
from me
                                                                                                                                                                                                      g                                         away
a            pinhole
of a portrait                                                                                                    n

                                    I squint                                                                  i

                                                                                                            t
Maybe you wave
Maybe       … 
                                                                                                       f
                                        …                                
 …                                     not                                                 i

                                                                                       r 
My eyes are failing

I see you like I see               a balloon d      

& I stay here
amid the trees
Here I see
though barely

Then someone
    a stranger
    beside me                                                     hands me her  
                                                                                                       glas/ses/
                                                                                                       |            |                      
                                                                                                       (             )    
                                                                                                         

Decayed hands thrash the stolen drum and soil the earth.
Pilfered cash and pitied coin rattling and rolling into spiraled death.
A knave selling hemlock root as carrots and rhythmic mendacity as truth.
Peddling waves of putrid air hidden in phony bouquets. 
Infecting lives through spoiled sounds from tympaned tongue.
Yet, as the music loops and the drumming echoes;
As the bouquet withers and rotted hand relents;
As the swindling circles;
So too, will the hungered snake find its tail.

a tube of chemical magic
a little red straw
and a smell that definitely wasn’t good for us
but tasted like saturday morning.

the focus it took
to roll that sticky ball between your fingers
squish it onto the plastic pipe
and blow.

they weren’t like regular bubbles.
they didn’t just pop when they hit the grass.
they were weird, lumpy, rainbow planets
that you could actually hold.

oh the fierce freedom of those long summers
staying out late for flashlight tag
building forts out of dead branches in the woods,
pedaling our bikes as fast as we could to get to the beach.

those bubbles would eventually wrinkle up and deflate
leaving that weird thin skin in your hand
a brief beautiful defiance of gravity
built from nothing but a plastic bead
and a chest full of air.

fight
as if you have to
fight
until you can’t 
fight
until every knuckle is cracked
fight
until your eyes become the color of spilt ink
fight
until every breath is gasped 
fight
until you become more bruise than man
fight
even if the odds are against you
fight
even if you’re the only one
fight
even if it kills you
fight
with the spirit of a billion wolverines
fight
like a bear that’s paw deep in a trap
fight
as if you had rabies
fight
as if valhalla awaits you 
fight
because who else is going to
fight
because someone needs you
fight
because we can’t let these bastards win
black, white, asian, latin, gay, straight, trans
d.) all of the above
none of that matters 
the only thing
that matters 
in this god forsaken hell world 
is that you just gotta
fight

When winter lays its blanket down
On ridge and hollow deep,
And all the world seems hushed and still
As mountains drift to sleep,

A flash of red cuts through the gray,
A living ember bright,
And folks who know the old ways say,
“A loved one’s come tonight.”

They perch upon the fence rails worn,
Or cedar by the lane,
Like little sparks from Heaven’s hearth
Sent down through snow and rain.

My grandma used to point and smile
Whenever one drew near,
And whisper, “That’s a visitor
From someone we hold dear.”

Perhaps it’s Pa come checking in
From where the angels roam,
To see the fields, the creek, the hills,
And guide our hearts back home.

Or maybe it’s a mother’s love
That death could never sever,
Riding on crimson wings to say,
“I’m watching still, forever.”

No sermon carved in marble stone,
No trumpet from above,
Just feathers bright against the cold
And memories wrapped in love.

They do not speak with human words,
Yet somehow hearts can hear
The gentle message that they bring:
“There’s nothing left to fear.”

So when a cardinal stops nearby
And meets your gaze awhile,
You might just feel a touch of Heaven
Within that fleeting smile.

And though we walk these earthly roads
Through sorrow, loss, and pain,
Those scarlet wings remind us that
We’ll meet our own again.

She wilts her lettuce with popping
bacon grease and pulls a pone
of cornbread from the oven, steam swirling
a halo around her head and fogging
her glasses right up.

She calls her man and all them babies
come running ahead of him,
sunburnt cheeks and nary
a clean pair of feet to be seen.

And as their oldest granddaughter pours
sweet tea into jelly jars, he slips
his hands around her waist and steals
some sugar while their legacy
groans and covers their eyes.

He had once begged for madness of course it had found him
Hell had been a life sentence, He spent the better part of it haunted
Not by spirits, he would welcome a ghost 
Instead he wondered the abyss of his own volition
Plauged by the demons he once wish would return to him 
“Haunt me” he commanded
Fearing not her wrath,  But a life without it

probably the 
name 
of the 
little
fairy that 
escapes
and 
flies back
into
my head
via 
my ear 
and 
always leaves
conveniently 
when I 
need
to remember 
something.