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The Lasts....In Order

Kimberly Williams


As a muse you are beautiful and endearing.

As a person you make me sad

And I guess I just need to make the choice,

Because God knows I don't need to be sad.

I was sad for years and years.

Sometimes life hands you misery

Then God hands you a keen axe

And lets you think you have battled

Alone through hell and back.


I am never super sad anymore,

As long as I cry when no one is looking.

I break down for brief moments,

That's about it though.

I convince myself I wield my own ax.

I don't have to wonder

What keeps the blade sharp and clean.

Good thing that in your weakest moments

You are still stronger than me.

In your weakest moment,

Stronger than most, it seems to be


Kimberly Williams says she still loves me

Like an old poem, poorly written

Upon dog-eared paper; no Poe for sure.

I still love her too, though admitting

Sometimes dulls the concept of God Axe;

Double-bladed and infallible.

On a North Dakota day,

I still wish times were simple;

I once lived two frozen trailer lots away.


If I only had a broke back single shot 12 gauge,

I could cure this addiction,

But my laptop is dying so I must bid you adieu!

Thank you for the company

But as a shoulder provided,

These old memories provide more pain than solace.

I have miles to go before I sleep,

Dreams of a past without futures,

And axes to grind that I must keep...


-------------------


Last Words


If you could remember

The last words you said,

Would you regret them.


If you could remember

The last words you said,

Would you recall them?


If you could remember

The last words you said,

Would you change them?


If the last thing you said

Makes you feel bad,

Then say something beautiful.


If you don’t stop to say

“I love you,” every day

How does anyone know?


If you could remember

The last words you said,

Would you regret them.



-----------------------


Last Words


They told me to use the last sentence

from the nearest book as the inspiration

for the first line of an epic poem.

But the only thing I have near

Is a dog-eared crossword collection.


From the nearest book, as the inspiration

For purloined words and rearranged letters

I tried to borrow a few lines and phrases

To create the kind of masterpiece and legends

That the likes of Poe or King would read.


For the first line of an epic poem

Should either come from the thinker’s heart,

Or a late night movie on channel 417,

Wherever the real inspiration lies,

As Inspiration for half written lies.


But the only thing I have near

Is the realization that some ships

Should never have been allowed

To leave the safety of a port

Sunwashed and dangerous gale hidden.


Is a dog-eared crossword collection

Full of mistakes and bad guesses

Permanently fixed with the smudging

of a worn eraser drug back and forth,

Like the words to the judge’s last sentence.


Last


-------------------


Plastic (Still Life)


Far beyond the plastic Jesus or Mary on the dashboard

The road wanders into infinity

While behind it slowly fades away

In the quiet and still settling

Fall leaves kicked around

By mostly bald tires.


The tangy autumn air,

Redolent with expected winter shivers

Slowly slides back over the scent

Of exhaust, oil,

And hot, overtaxed engine.


Clad in a cheap knock-off

buffalo plaid “LL Bean

Maine Hunting Shirt,”

Now thread-barren,

And carelessly maintained,

With loose buttons and mended seams,

I curse a too hot defroster.


I sing along to the lyrics

From a scratched rock CD

Coming through

Tin-sounding speakers

In my 1986 Ford pickup

And remember.


Life was supposed to be easier

When I left high school

And this tired town

And followed the road

That was laid out

And wandering into infinity

Far beyond the plastic Jesus or Mary on the dashboard.


----------------------


Winter Doesn't Last


The robins came back,

hop-hopping along the field.

The robins came back.


Snow receded, revealed

the spring-soft ground

and fall abandoned field.


Listen for the whisper sound

of a worm creep-crawling;

the soft-spring ground.


Softly robin comes calling,

"remember the joys of spring;

of a worm creep-crawling."


Happily he begins to sing

as he pokes for breakfast.

Remember the joys of spring!


Thankfully, winter doesn't last

as he pokes for breakfast.

The robins came back!

The robins came back!

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