As Much Help

Stars full of statics and rains,

Sleeps full of sharks

And poison-bomb planes;

The frames as much help as the door,

When the test leaves scar marks

And your soul’s face is pressed to the floor

And you’re still going down.

Every straight’s a corner

Every down is always up a hill.

The one you picked won’t

Everybody else’s will.

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To Light Again

Found in the cold-turn soil:

Just a sod-clamped half of nothing

Corroded scrap-of-metal,

Forged, used, cast away –

Misplaced perhaps – lost  these

Five hundred years and more …

Then brought sudden to light again.

 

“Don’t foul your ears

With the bad they say,

Don’t pass on the vitriol;

For down the lines of

History-gone-to-bed someone

Will plumb the several realities.

Be better if you don’t swallow the

Lies they offer, so glibly, today.”