My eyes green
are 2 glass windows
into the past.
I keep the blinds
pulled down tight.
is a Biblical definition of sin.
I live in darkness,
the shame of those early years.
I pull myself out
redemption in old age,
before the grave,
I flatter myself
in a mirror, no reflection.
Alberta Bound (V4)
I own a gate to this prairie
that ends facing the Rocky Mountains.
They call it Alberta-
trails of endless blue sky
asylum of endless winters,
the hermitage of indolent retracted sun.
Deep freeze drips haphazardly into spring.
Drumheller, dinosaur badlands, dried bones,
ancient hoodoos sculpt high, prairie toadstools.
Alberta highway 2 opens the gateway of endless miles.
Travel weary, I stop by roadsides, ears open to whispering pines.
In harmony North to South
Gordon Lightfoot pitches out a tune-
With independence in my veins,
I am a long way from my home.
Tiny Sparrow Feet (V2)
My clear plastic bowls
serves as my bird feeder.
I don’t hear the distant
of tiny sparrow feet,
the wing dances, fluttering, of a hungry
morning’s lack of big band sounds.
I walk tentatively to my patio window,
spy the balcony with my detective’s eyes.
I witness three newly hatched
toddler sparrows, curved nails, mounted
deep, in their mother’s dead, decaying back.
Their childish beaks bent over elongated,
delicately, into golden chips, and dusted yellow corn.
Beach Boys, Dance
They dance and drum to their songs.
Boogaloo Boys, Beach Boys, still band members die.
Revolts and rebellion always end in peace, left for the living.
Even the smoking voice of Carl Wilson dies
with a canary inside his cancerous throat called “Darlin.”
Dennis Wilson, hitchhiking, panhandling with the devil Charles Manson,
toying with heroin, he’s just too much trouble to live.
Check their history of the living and the dead;
you will find them there, minor parts and pieces
musical notes stuck in stone wall cracks,
imbibe alcohol, cocaine.
Name’s fade, urns toss to sea
dump all lives brief memories,
bingo, no jackpot.