The Soul Man and Others

The Soul Man

Bending downward
the movements etched
lines in the muscles
aching on his back.

Here the man recoils
and doubles his efforts,
cautiously sealing his
life in measurements sketched
on a bar that understands
nothing between zero and
two hundred.

Old, the man reaches into
his heart, tuning the
strings to tighten
his soul, and close the gap
between heaven and hell
because grace is plenty
when sucked through a straw,
and there's hope
that inquity won't
slay him yet.

~*~

Down step and one foot

close to the water

breathing off cold

mist enveloping

with the words

which spring upon

the soul.

The invisible grip

squeezes veins and lungs

of hot, comfortable living

with a realization

of the un-real.

And as a pen dips the

flinches of life into words,

so does death infringe.

~*~

I wonder if the road ahead

bears signs painted

yellow and marks with

black crosses,

as the doubt of possibilities

stretch across this gravel-laden,

quiet road, ending with a

soft murmuring of my mouth.

And the humored wind

speaks with a push

as the dawn parades

upwards behind my head

against the road.

Traveling on, I kick stones

in the same direction;

they stop as I move on

solid as any one of them.