The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron
To tell them “Supper.” At that word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy’s first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart—
He saw all spoiled. “Don’t let him cut my hand off—
The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!”
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

I swear you just winked
in your hospital bed
up in the moon’s eye,
where Poetry is dreamt,
like you’re having us all on
as you are wont to do
from time to time,
and all those other times
in between.

I return the wink
with the doc’s back
facing toward us
and we try to suppress
our giggles,
lest our cover be blown.

And once we are alone,
I bring out the wheelchair
and bribe our way
to an early checkout.

No one notices
because no one can,
as I push you out the doors
and into the backseat
of our getaway car,
climbing in beside you
and closing the door;
the car tearing off to raise hell,
with Nod behind the wheel,
the Narrator riding shotgun,
Tiny Dancer on the dashboard,
and a little piece of heaven
blaring out the speakers:

we’ve escaped.

I miss you, and I'm afraid to ask
Where you've gone, where you've been,
How you are, and most of all, if you still are-

I fear the answer most, that doesn't come,
The reply that never arrives:
Bravery was never my forte.

But I wanted to say I miss you
And that I imagine you doing well-
Because that's the only vision I can withstand.

I wish I were the kind could shore up another,
Be their rock and guide, through stormy days.
Unfortunately, I am only that one who stays quietly faithful
In the inner heart, till the very end.

But I can't imagine there being an end to you
Or of that vision that you are the only container of
Ever met with, in my lifetime of knowing.

So I will only say, I wish you well, forever
Come what may, and hope that we will meet again-
Some other, better day.

The stinging shards of glass return,
Like midnight oil that begs to burn.
The mocking bird begins it’s song,
To prove to you how I'm so wrong.
The moonbeams shine on wings of fate,
And the world goes on with bitter hate,
You claim to care yet venom flows
From tongues of snakes, and hatred grows
Judge thee not is what it reads,
Yet covered up are ***** deeds.
For blind deceit and prideful ways,
You’ll push too far these troubled strays.
No one will come and, you’ll blame me,
You say, “I”,  am hypocrisy.
They stay away, they run, they hide,
Who wants to take judgmental pride?
It’s very sad for the cost is great,
For those you push from Heaven’s gate.
Love all others is the golden rule
Yet you pick and choose so who’s the fool?

You told me once  that you've  never loved
anyone like you love me. You also  told me
that you woud love me forever and   never
(ever) leave my life.  That   you were   here  
to  stay.  You  
said I looked
like an angel,
like  an    Arabian   princess,
Angelina   Jolie-esque  and  
simply  eatable.  Your love
for    me   showed   all  over
this   perfect
face of yours,
you   know...
And   though
my poor eyes,
heart,    and
hands    belie-
ved every eve-
ry lie,    every  
*******   *****
lie,    I   know
better    now.                             **UCK YOU

They were running out of water,
while we still possessed plenty,
stored in bottles, jugs, cups, toilets,
stored in the gutters and backyards;
a supply large enough to quench
billions of parched throats.

But before their claws could scratch,
we defeated them through sacrifice,
through patriotic self-destruction.

Now our supply is just as low,
desiccated by mushroom sighs;
wasted by hereditary wastelanders
cashing in on an apropos wasteland.

Like history predicted,
we destroyed it all.