Momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird
That shouts and shrieks until smothered by speech.
Innocence, too willing, accepts her word,
As lies indoctrinate those whom she’ll reach.
Hey, diddle, the cow jumped over the moon
And heaved and tumbled as she fell toward Earth.
Sociopaths and martyrs die so soon,
Sweet lullabies nursed in evil’s birth.
Dickory, dock, the mouse ran up the clock
By dancing on the hands of destiny.
The pendulum of life swings tick and tock,
Controlling all things in its brevity.
Life is not a pretty nursery rhyme,
For all things wither till the end of time.
The Whispers of a Wanderer
A hand slaps her face.
The moon glares down.
Her eyes and her cheek believe
the sting is over.
But there is no relief.
Instead, she is met with an ironic
cascade of dry blinks and tears
through a puddle turned mirror.
She owns them and she knows them, but to whom she owes their credit, she knows not yet.
The wind whistles.
She whispers back, something like a tune, except no one listens.
Only in the dark.
Leaves rattle in trees, dry call for encore. There is none.
Windows shake in their sills.
she’ll jump out of one
land on her feet
and sing a hymn through the trees on into
A trickster, a snake, a mind-robber
Burning, nauseating stunts all the way down
Masqued by sweetness in a mug, cup, glass
Racing to come back up
Forcing the chase
A shield, an extrovert, a liberator
Tending scenes of happiness
Armed by the darkness of a crowd of laughter
Burdens acquitted in the Haze
Belting out, together, a hoarse sea shanty