Into the new year with old wounds.
Doctor appointments lined up.
Wanting to let go of grief, of the weep,
rend, wrack, realizing the news will
never, ever go away. Small souls adrift.
Blankets pulled over weary heads.
Late night walk on the Boardwalk to find
what honkytonk money will buy.
It doesn’t take long to find snake-oil
justice even under a full moon.
More steps down the pier, ocean scent,
edge of the world, even grudges disappear.
Let me move slow as the crippled stars,
find a philosophy in solitude
in this spot in the unanchored expanse.
I rework the words of scripture, years
hunkered down, swinging old swords.
Bury them all in flecks of moonlight.
Published in Birdland Journal January 2020