What dreams may come

You would think you wouldn't nightmare him
Thirty years buried in the sticky clay of your town
But then you wake at 3:23 in the morning and he
Has transmogrified into a drooling demon who
Murders your sister, who threatens to slit your throat

And you spend the whole of the next day secretly
Aghast, since his ghost now haunts you
Not the demon that your unwaking mind made him
To be, but the man who was; the man who built
You a boat to sail in the drain ditch out front

Why now has he transformed for you?
What have you done that has made him change?
What have you given up?  What have you kept?
So you walk out into the storm, clutching your
Collar close, wondering if you will find him
Again.

Care Service

You worried about people thinking that you're ridiculous
But the ridicule that dropped from your lips stained your
Best dress shirt with a jagged pool of yellowing hate

Sneering, you wondered why people would turn on you
It was them, of course, not your stained shirt, not the bitter
Spell bubbling away in the cauldron of your soul

So what is to be done?  Where do you go with all the seething
Mockery that wants to boil over and cover the stove in a sticky
Syrup of jeers that you once thought built the body of your

Existence?

Inclination

High tension wires strain into the distance
Where mountain range nearly touches mountain range
God to Adam at the bottom of the valley
One arm inclined in lackadaisical acceptance
The other disinclined in active indifference
A sea gull follows the wire through the morning haze
Never reaching the point where man and divine
Join together in a rocky embrace