A little dirt goes a long way

The white tips of nails, aged and sharpened,

grip the mealy earth, turned and beaten.

The skin turns opaque, cold and brittle,

trembles as the body moves, noncommittal.

Her eyes dance wildly, a search undaunted,

as fountains of youth loom, leaving her taunted.

Dig into the bitter ground, a hapless pillow,

and save thyself from an endless 'morrow.

There, ahead, grace from effort beckons

as does life's final, splendid lesson.

Terra firma is just a dream

Separate the tinsel from the branches

and grow your limbs to carry water.

Borrow silence for a stolen moment

and plow the field to manage the chatter.

Endure missed footsteps and songs

while others lie prostrate in mortar.

Ask yourself, slowly, if emblems en masse

can restore a nation's imperfect flavor.

Action, furtive and stone-faced, endows

a great passel a future brighter and grander.

Post-modern modesty

The life in me parries and plays, gives ground only when teased.

It blends soul with mind with body, never minds yours, sitting next door.

Buried in the backyard, truth fumbles and breaks free.

It's time we struck it rich, take back the way we were.

Here, in the middle of harmony, between the treaties and fears

of mellow bygone years, is the real manner of which I speak.

Hear me again, shallow is my tone, there's no reason to believe.

That after the last bit of treason, I will not break down the weak.