take your gun
locked and loaded
and pointed at my head



pull the trigger
release me please
shoot your gun, i should be dead.

success' sweet smell
terminally truncated
everywhere, everything
vaguely verbose
everyone, everywhere
suddenly stops

daddy's done
onerous ownership
nothing now
eviscerated empty

Sing softly into the night
of doves
charity
and God's Holy Light

Sing softly into the night
of Christ's Passion
Grace
and God's Redemptive might

Wrap me in your arms
hold me tight
Wrap me in your love
as I sing softly into the night.

One of my youngest son's fears, which he recognizes as improbable, but perhaps not unreasonable, is a zombie attack. I know how this sounds, there are a lot of things in the world to worry about, why zombies? If you too worry about what a zombie attack would be like, and what the aftermath could be like, I would recommend World War Z. I recently finished the book and thought it was very good. And, much to my surprise, it made me think about what a comfort most of our lives have become in this country. I know, there is poverty and needs galore in this country, but we have come a long way in the past couple hundred years. I really didn't mean to pontificate about this subject. Look at the website, if it looks good to you, read it.

Tired. Tired and dirty. But it was over. She'd done the unthinkable. As if killing the bastard hadn't been enough of doing the unthinkable. She had been tired of him hounding her thoughts and dreams. She had grown tired of the walking nightmare, of the idiotic fears and fantasies. She'd paid cash for the shovel at an old Army-Navy surplus store and had driven to the graveyard in the dead of night. She'd had a chuckle at that - the dead of night. For all the cuts and wounds she'd given him, she felt like she was the one who was dead walking into that graveyard. And yes, she'd dug him up. Wasn't hard to do. He was wildly unpopular and his grave was well placed for robbing. The coffin was cheap, just like he had been. His rotting corpse was disgusting to see, to smell. It had shocked her that he'd gotten none of the usual treatments from the mortician. Maybe she wasn't the only one to have had some opinions about him. Amazing that a mortician would actually break the law out of spite. She'd decided to send that mortician an anonymous gift. The spade made short work of his skull and chest. And she knew it was over. She was rid of him and the nightmares he'd given. It was over.

Smiling softly to herself, she showered the last of him away. And she was finally happy.

my tears fall useless
on a fallow field
the harvest is past due
and the children are starved
I've worked the ground
ploughed and tilled
hoped and prayed

my tears fall useless
on my barren fields
planted and watered
nothing will grow

my tears fall useless
on my empty field
the farm repossessed
the children fled

my tears fall useless
into my empty hands
calloused and bruised
ring-less and alone

my tears fall useless

How does a boy tell his mother
he doesn't want the gift she gave
How does a father tell his kids
that human love is spoiled
How does a husband tell his wife
how much she is missed
How does a man tell his God
that he thinks He messed up
How does a doctor tell his patients
he doesn't have a cure

How do I say all those things
that need saying
How can I express
What is inexpressible
How can I
How can I