Morning Greets Me

Each morning greets me differently;
she kisses my cheek for love, or
spits down my throat for some other reason.
I used to hate her obnoxious light.
When I was a child I threw sticks
at her and swore I would do myself
in before she could. I made rope from vines
that her sun rays grew. I gathered
poison that lived on her sickly Earth
and piled them next to my bare toes
as they dug deep through the planets
coarse skin.
I think I sat in this spot, with my back toward
her for years on top of years.
She burned and blistered through my anger,
but I couldn’t see.

Until, one morning, my daughter greeted me,
sat softly next to my feet and reached deep into
the pile of poison
that I’d been saving for me.

Marinated Chops

Oh, God!

I woke up sizzling!
Left rear range,

chopped up,
marinated and lubricated,

hands of circumstance
me around gridiron with prickly
fingered sticks,


Without hands to reach out
to the other pieces
roasting inches away from me.


Left lonely with chunks of
thick bloody substance that
I was delivered with,

the delicate meat
made me whole,

without a mouth to
my own company.

I miss them already!

The heat is getting heavy, I have
been left
sun progression – damn light!

Waking me up
to this!