Discounted Poetry

Perhaps the humid sky's Too heavy. You are never there, The ending of the yarn You've strung throughout the trees Is simply tied onto a barren branch. I'm seldom tired. I am yawning Not from weariness, Well, mostly not, But boredom. The pressing air, Quicksilver lover, Older man In search of the end Of searching, Traveling on, - 6/2/26

That stare Rejuvenates the dead and gone. Your smile Slays us all. The angel visited me early. She only speaks in warnings, Never blessings. Our highway's buckled and uncertain. You've got to toss down more Than penny antes When there's blood  In the middle Of the table, When lines relax to fuzzy smears Throughout the room, When all the colors fail to grey, When all you are Is taken, broke. I think I know a way around, A path directly to the middle Where the fire blazes  Yet does not consume. I can take you over, But you've got to make it halfway To my vehicle yourself. - 6/1/26