The Walking Dead

The evening grew long as a chill settled in for the night.

My dogs and I ventured out for one last walk as dusk wrapped its

velvet arms around us.

I breathed deep

inhaling the spicy pines

and decaying leaves underfoot.

A hungry wind devoured what leaves were left clinging

helplessly to the trees.

I could hear voices echoing down the years

and whistling softly through naked branches.

The spoke of lives spent

from the ravages of time;

from loss, fear, self-doubt and loathing.

When death claims life it is final;

the pain is gone, the story done.

But for the living who know no comfort from their own loss,

who drown in their own pity

and live only in their memories

death does not come for them.

They are the walking dead

and are as real as the wind

picking his teeth with the tree branches.

They are shadows that cry in the night,

a hunger that can never be satisfied.

My dogs sniff the air as if anticipating

the arrival of some unforeseen entity.

The moon is full and heavy as though in its ninth month.

It hangs behind my house waiting for us to return.

So we do

and I close the door on the shadow world-

its hollow secrets-

and the walking dead.



GOOD MORNING

As the dawn awakens you reach for me.

I burrow down close into you--

Feeling your warmth encompass me--

Breathing your muskiness mingled with mine.

Your flesh is my flesh.

Your heartbeat is my heartbeat.

I become you.

Our bodies are as fluid as one motion.

Arms and legs intertwine into one being.

We dance our dance before the rising sun

Brazen with desire--hungry with need.

Throbbing, pulsating rhythms tear at

Our thighs, our backs, our bellies.

Our bodies convulse as if possessed  by some demon

Shooting hot molten lava through our brains.

And in one long breath you relax as my own body gives way to peace.

We lay there full and at ease with the world as the sun says, "Good Morning."

THE ACTOR

Under the glaring spotlights
On top of the wooden stage
In front of the heavy velvet curtain
The actor becomes the sage.

He wears all the costumes
He plays all the parts
He invokes all his lines
He knows them all by heart.

But now he has come to the end
He had played his last show
And taken his final bow
Only thing left to do is go.

One last curtain call
One last look around
One last deep breath
Before the echoing silence comes down.

He exits stage left
Through the side door
Onto the street

Where the actor, once cheered,
Now just blends into
The throngs of a million feet.