A friend to talk to over coffee.

What are the fears keeping me up?
Insuring my morning arrives with tears.

Sadness. A small precise weight laid heavily on a heart.
Clenched like a mad fist. I am growing crazy.
Lunacy. A friend to talk to over coffee.

Who convinced me as a child I had a bleeding heart?
It’s not like I wrote this man mad and depressed. Beaten. Beating.
Bleeding me and all close of our furious and unpredictable brokenness.

I want more than all things to help it along.

Work like a well paid servant for my external biological community.
Family. And not just scattered weekends and weak ends, but the kingdom.
The kingdom of twisted roots tainting everything I remember.

That thought. Making me stay up late and wake up early.
Keeping me frail and ceaselessly surly, perched on the verge of tears.
Betrayal. The betrayal brought to me by a friend I once called brother.
And as well as that discourteous bloody reaction,
there is the betrayal I intend to enact on others.

A different sort

Slightly yellowed clouds. And slightly golden.
A large ever-present star burning beyond them.
Bright. Drawn back eyes light.
Shiny like the lyrics of a hymn.

Greasing up vapor blocked ridges like a raw egg
boiling across a charcoal color cast iron sky.

From clear and thick to white jiggling flap of skin.
Leftover from a different sort of better fed man.

Clouds grow loose. Less yellow. Less gold.
Only slightly cold. Like that veiled tender hymn.
Awaiting the bird-feathered, bubble-throated
pipe organ of spring to come crashing in.