Dispatches from the Suicide Hours of Immortality

The poem is a pied piper for the rats in my mind

Poems for Days – Day 14 – 4.5.20

[as chills strum my spine]


a glass metamorphosis

sparsely occupies this gray morning


upon awakening

this chasm begged a crossing



toward a quiet mad rush

thru the vortex of my solitude.

the sunday times 4.5.20

near misses


fractious turns

persistence adheres


arrival enters thru

points of departure


the sights remain unsung

the songs unseen


the heart will hide

in the strangest places


yet always remaining

within our grasp.


lay of the land


for each

the other






doubt pervades redemption

worthiness derides acceptance


fighting inward


the breaking tides

of here and now


crashing unseen

from the distance

of then and after


swirled in a madness

that presence heeds not


but fear knows

all too well.


no sense


cold upon the nerve


steel these eyes

within this stone


nothing leads

far enough away


the only choice

is to endure


as nights fill with

the heaviness of the heart


the glass votive

of love’s circled flame


distorted by memory

bent by the light


into the truth

for which we long.


turning toward


looking down old roads

nothing more to see


yet still drawn

to the fading view


somewhere else is

everything to come


and the only link

bridging last and next


is exactly

where i

must be.


“Dawn collects our names

through the dark hours,

cradling us all in the

pearled petals of

our dreams.”

  • Holaday Mason

Poems for Days – Day 13 – 4.4.20

[hold the line]


fire is the way

to walk thru


to use its burn

and warmth

to advantage


to not turn away

in its presence…


we are meant not to fight it…

but to harness it


to embrace it

to make it ours


to solder our armor and forge our path

and to leave a blazing trail as a beacon

for those still searching for light.




Poems for Days – Day 12 – 4.3.20

[out of phase]  


vaulted from knowingness to abyss


time stammers

in the dark wake

of unexpected tides


conclusions far gone

hindsight is a crack in the sky


nothing matters but the moment at hand

and that the moon and stars can still look beautiful

despite all that goes on

down here.



Poems for Days – Day 11 – 4.2.20

[pain and purity]


making sense of loneliness

squared back to one


removed from circulation

for the greater good


collecting the spent flares discarded

along the broken streets of the mind


kindling for a greater fire

to burn for the duration.

Poems for Days – Day 10 – 4.1.20

[fine line]


darkness encircled

by halos of light


fear snares the mind

in times of duress


certain unavoidable confrontations

will need to be addressed

at many given moments


progress remains paramount


keep going


there is no better way to overcome

than straight on thru.

Poems for Days – Day 9 – 3.31.20

[shades of day]


all the whiles

slowed to a crawl


examining the walls

with a fine-toothed neurosis


a few voices

here and there


windows cracked for

a semblance of fresh air


heart and mind widened


wingspan stretched

to accommodate these spacious new hours

waiting to be filled.




Poems for Days – Day 8 – 3.30.20

[don’t look]


trailing time

in fractures of mind


severed lines bleed

beyond the rivers flow


crawling down thru centuries

in directionless endeavor


leaving but the braille of broken branches

to tell our dying tale.

Poems for Days – Day 7 – 3.29.20

[ever onward]


up from the count



the roll of resilience



gathering momentum

as the mountains reveal the sun

to the canyons below



thru the misty fog

of mourning.

the sunday times 3.29.20



thoughts of abyss

as the rain comes down


all into another

yet still as one






white smoke rising

from the dark horizon below


as the heart’s infinite depth is revealed


it’s unspoken joys and sorrows

finally free to sing.


to ruins, to dust, to mist


the tied hands of time unlocked

all becomes numberless


nothing to hold back

nothing to set free



is the way

we are







of hope and harrow


stone letters

in lost wells


oceans flushed

from the eyes

into the hereafter


standing alone

in the crowded



heart in hands

hands to sky


take it all

and let me cry

no more.


sunday’s return


different spaces


colors ever changing

in matters of the heart


turns of tide

circumstances unseen


nothing yet to hope for

beyond another day.


“Life lived

is life darkened at the edges

and made more luminous at its heart.”

  • David St. John