Wound up
some nights
I go out to think…

Of all the truths we share
there are little reminders we choose to keep hidden
fix up the front porch

but bullet holes in backyards
they go on…

We may not know what they mean
but we know what they represent
the past is scarred, pock-marked

Did the children stand beside the pond
where they were sprayed and felled
did the family huddle clo...

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Everything I used to touch
was touched with sadness

Everything I used to make
or say out loud
or joke about
was infused with sadness

A pathos to deepen all
a blackness 
to accentuate all light

Everything I hung
was waiting to be hanged
in every tale I spun
I was waiting to be hanged

Somehow the sadness 
magnified the bright moments
shifted perspective
brought my dark art to...

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