Ever since my childhood awareness of mortality,

I perceived death as a stalker, shadowing me.

I would periodically look back over my shoulders

to ensure my feet were well ahead of it.

Cautionsly, I ran;

it was easier in my youth;

aging can alter the inertia,

skew the pursuit, distorting the gap.

　

Today, I stopped running

to let my thoughts catch a breath,

to pant over the end of this pavement,

the gravel beyond it,

the dirt road beyond that, and farther along

trail ruts and wilderness.

　

The omnous threat felt close on my heels,

almost feeling its hot breath on my neck.

Turning around to face the inevitable,

I was surprised at my impatience with its arrival,

drawing breath after breath,

anticipating the ravaging devour.

Eventually, its approach came into view,

a slow gait quickening in the distance

as if recognizing my stationary stealth,

its excitement proportional to my dread

standing on this self-determined finish line.

　

I closed my eyes and trembled,

fearing the face of its open-jawed countenance.

A sensationless pause opened my eyelids

to see my pursuer; it was the face of my life.

　

Then, I devoured myself.

  The acceleration of political news has moved from measured, dichotomous rhetoric in campaign cycles, where spikes and troughs of public opinion polls crest and dip on a wide scale, to highly intense and narrowed needle swings of frequency fueled by ravenous and ambiguous media. Within the tightening stream of one permanent campaign nowadays, the right vs left slugfest more closely resembles a sustained collision of trembling laser beams that befit an arm wrestling contest.
 
  Moreover, media reports have had an atomizing effect in that each turn in developing events re-assembles particles into potential ideological narratives ripe for packaging into the fray that strengthen the tension in partisan conflicts.

The Last Note

Winded in the shallow breathing,
awaiting closure the last note in life's melody will bring,

Wondering whether it will hold a sustained resonance,
unchecked by the reflexive shadow thought
of a possible time signature ascribing a curt ending.

Regardless

Departing privately with an assurance
that a soul's  thirst is scantly quenched,
rings in the abyss.

It is late autrumn in America
Human kindness has fallen with the leaves
Wind of change blusters to ride atop promises of Winter
Bringing a bitterness that won't melt with snow
Lingering through seasons yet to come

A Dollop

In the stillness of private reflections are filtered desires
secretly spun and woven into pure longing
a fabric earnestly crafted into the simplest form of sincerity
held until it is at least nearly presentable to you.

You, a carton of never ending ice cream
wherein a dollop satisfies so fully
in different flavors of the same love
covered and shared by many
so complete that a spoonful's measure
lasts forever.

Smiles

Interludes of intermittent smiles spot the cloudy skies like sun rays
They often weaken quickly,
 unsustainable, as they all are.
We dare not discount them on such grounds,
especially the involuntary ones
recognized as genuine by grateful onlookers.

Sudden ones splash faces
with a flash of teeth,
while others slowly widen corners of mouths,
so easily discerned in their uniform spontaneity.

I saw one aloft a windswept dress,
uncovered by  breeze-blown strands of long hair
streaming from the jubilant pace of its host;
it was a delightful sight.

Self Absorbed

Heartbeats throb,
Echoing off the walls of my insularity
Bouncing back
on ME!

The ONE
all encompassing,
self-edifying
soul.