The New Highway Patrolman

As I exited the courtyard gate I
Saw that ornate ironwork pointed at me
With flowery dagger words of goodbye.
And so I hopped into my car to see
If it was possible to outrun grief.
The tree limbs, filled with newly-turning leaves
Shook slightly in my wake, like disbelief.
If the new highway patrolman perceives
Me as a threat I bet I could reach for
My wallet with a fast, jerking motion
Just right to make him unload in my core.
My heart pierced by lead, drained of emotion.
     Though I want it, I won't let it come true,
     I don't want my last thought to be of you.

Write now

I want to write words that will shatter skies,
To speak in pure power, to let loose the
Words that ring so true they murder all lies
And leave in their wake a reason to be.
I want my words recited by heroes
Mustering up the will to save the day.
I want my words in her ears when she knows
The time has come to shed her clothes and play.
I want my words to be a magic wand
That can bring dreams to life and right all wrongs,
That will allow me to escape death's bond
Each time a new soul starts to sing my songs
     But before I can make that fire ignite,
     I must sit here with pen in hand and write.

Tuesday Morning Burning Man

She holds her hands high in prayer and sings
Some secret song in a language I don't
Recognize. Her modest meal made of things
Blessed by those motions that I simply won't
Ever fully understand. The secret
Ritual of a bedouin beauty
Who has, ever so briefly, come to sit
In a desert shelter across from me.
I am on a temporary leave from
A life of place and possession, a home
That gives me enough comfort to be numb
To the wide world over which she does roam.
     But in that mighty moment she shows me
     Something special--another way to be.