To My Daughter
Among all this stress
is a single golden tress
which, when laid across my ches-
t, is indeed the most prec-
ious heaven you could bless.
My soul, that cratered mess,
would gladly find res-
t for this young lioness
who knows not her ques-
t, but to enjoy all the best.
So I loosen my ves-
t, heart swelling more than a fes-
tival of cowboys out wes-
t. And I can only wres-
tle with what is less -
the unenviable and fatal chess
or the horror of a life's press.
But I have no daughter, I must confess.
______________________________
To Be Honest
We speak to each other
Through tired silences
The inability to share
The undone plans
Left on the counter
To rot like last week's fruit
But here I sit
And there you sit
And between us is
This putrid corpse
Of our making
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