steep inclines

I've been pedaling bicycles built for twos
Pedaling philosophy from warmed over blues
Dragging sand bags up steep inclines;
Slippery slopes without hopes or traffic signs.
It gets so cold here on the ground,
holding the business end of a seesaw down.
Fragments keep flying while I feel
as if  I'm wilting on the vine.
Pack it in and you're just another quitter.
Keep it up:  You make a damn fine baby sitter.
This getting old is getting old
Surviving simply for the sake of the story
in a land where dreams are
only so much inventory.



[who is reading? please feel feel to comment constructively.]

Eclipse

Thee Man in the Moon has passed away
they're holding vigil in the park.
Best bring a candle or lantern with, 
it's apt to be very, extremely dark.
The sprites and spirits will offer toast
to their late and celebrated host
who has given up the final ghost
Thee Man in the Moon is dead.

No hope have I to offer you
No false reassuring words to share.
The news I fear is completely true
and laid my deepest daunting bare.
So call upon my heart no more
I'll suffer no greetings at my door
It's to this end the days have led
Thee Man in the Moon is forever dead.

300 grams

You cried, bitterly after each
and every nightmare.
Had me believing
you never dreamed.
Yet sometimes, just as you
succumbed to sleep,
I’d hear you laughing.
The heart is hardly larger
than a fist, beating against
the bleached and bloodless stare
of an innocent pillow case.
What stains, I wonder,
are concealed on the ticking beneath?