Brimming Over with Holiday Spirit

After the cleansing storm, electrifying 
Heavenly raindrops caught flashing on 

Pods of the pepper—a natural 
Lit-up Yuletide tree! 

Surely a sign from above that 
No superfluous baubles needed, 

Only enough to take in 
More than we can see.

Nepenthe

The narcotic quiet at the end of the dead-end street—

Even the trees approaching it have fallen asleep. 

The Usual Suspect

That’s him there—waxing poetic at the end 
Of another butchered line, that 

Moon-faced assassin feigning 
Innocence time after time. 

In Flanders Field Redux

Lord, whosoever said something like 
Ours is not to reason why 
Or other like inflated poppycock, 
Let him put his muzzle 
Where his blooming mouth is 
And shut the fuck up. 

Sacrificial Rites of Passage

Our legacy—where we always begin 
The quest to give up all that 

We find at the end.