you had us hurt,
in wonderment.
an astonished
palm cuts itself
on coarse bark,
beside a tall
carved boulder.

he thought, groves
to forgotten things,
names with absent
meanings – here,
I could sit and think.

“We’re all Broken People”

We’re all broken people
in our own way.

We all wear scars
either of our own forging
or forced on our fading
ill-watching ill-receiving flesh.

We all had lives
turned and twisted inside
out by what we couldn’t
control; some of us deserved it.

I don’t know where I stand
when weighted against you.

I only have what experience
has told me; that I am broken.

Who else drinks alone?

“Public and Private”

Hurt is public
pleasure private.

Love, unless lost,
not to be discussed.

Pain, and the cost
is a more worthy muse.

Flowers, colours
touch of skin on skin
is for knowing hearts
not reading eyes.

Despair is the food of the many.
Maybe it’ll make it
worth it.

I fight back thought
and write.