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Blessed Bacon
There’s a moment,after baconis placedin searing pan,sizzling,sweating,a momentjust beforethe sizzlingstrip surrendersto heat,risking beingburnt black, that’s the moment,when fatsubmits its willand finally renders,that’s the momentbacon earnsblessed exaltation.
Nighttime Protest
My bed and Ihave a nightly ritual,an ongoing debate,about life: Life is meantto be ponderedand lived,he says. All I want,I slap back,is sweet sleep. He, of course,is king,and my mind,unfortunatelysilently protests,unwillingto stand ground. Neither of usis contentto concedethe quarreluntil the weemorning hours.
With Joy
With joy,tears retreating,but laughter beating,pulsing,pounding,refusing to stop.Spinning, kicking,restless ticking,tickling my veins,love’s rhythmclicking, sticking,refusing to fade.With joy,shouting, leaping,flying high,my feet, dancing,soaring in the sky.My soul,fanning flamesonce fiercely burning,no longer holding tearsI taught myself to bury.But tears, once hidingdeep where pride resides,no longer have room to stay,no corners left to divide.With joyI’m breaking free,riding waves,soaring high,with younow…
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