Eating Dust and Bone

Eating dust and bone
with  bled-out mouths
through tears too dry
to leave traces,
they were staring out
at a land called hope
with no hope left
on their faces.
When the danger fled,
danger still hung on,
the form of a brother
changed to a
treacherous friend--
the story so old
they could tell it to
themselves,
with an ending
that tastes of dust
and bone.

Ten long years back
they were brave and awake
that the danger faced
could be made erased.
But that treacherous friend
simply lay in wait
letting the danger come back
by looking away.
They were promised guns
and the fat of the land
and got decades of war
and the back of the hand,
Could one be sore?
No, it was written in stone
if only they ever read
they would see,
that promises made were ever
dust and bone
and all they ever could be.

But the promises made
that lead to lives far worse
should be understood as
evil as a magician's curse
and the echoes back
from where they began
should cause sleepless nights
for the certainly damned--
as they sit at great tables
in their stately homes
may they taste nothing
but dust and bone.

Asphalt and the Silvered Sea

The shine under the streetlamp
shows frozen ripples,
silvery and wet,
and smoother than belief.
It's a hazard to walk
this mirrored way
or drive even in the black
hollows where
tires have gone before.
The salt is buried,
crystal within crystals,
a white blur in the slick
clear sheen--the steps and
the railings are glass,
the cars are glazed,
and the rain all silver--
a gentle mist,
transforming to
a pounded hardness
against an asphalt ocean,
transforming
the dark road
to a silvered sea.