Geocidal 

I tap the edge of the granite counter.
Somewhere concrete poured in.
The quarry was cornered.
Choo choo trains were ridden to end of lines.
I tossed salacious incendiaries like
drilling hardline worries
i.e., porcelain blemished
with salt water stains,
i.e., sagging ledges,
a broken water main.


Did you know
you can turn a dead-and-gone loved one
into a gem?
Polish me pretty!
You used to pay in
funeral fees
now
it’s only $49.99
plus shipping.
Forget me not!
You can wear it around
your neck.
The dignity.







Photo by Joshua Fuller on Unsplash




Well, We Found Ourselves Here (Now What?)

Bucking bull chained.
His dangling septum ring clangs,
golden or iron-wrought,
winged or Atlassian,
8 seconds of madness then
unrecognizable sideways glances and…
You, an unbroken link
can trace your line in
puddle jumpers, layovers and
trans-Atlantic migrations, that
uprooting of plugs planted in new land,
tilled before and after by hands
that clasped your own. Locked,
intertwined, in bed
aboard the Lusitania that life
sank, but you are firm.
Grounded, entrenched, while others
found their beds in trenches. You
passed on beyond
letters, email chains, and encrypted MMS
to profess your perfectly
ordinary, depressive longing
for meaning beyond dumb luck.

Photo by Luke Stackpoole on Unsplash