why try to push those Daisys

Words tapping away
days drawn in a sweep
markings made and
digits dismembered

agreements pushed
remember, hawks kneeyow and
sing as claws hold, hold.
Hold.
The release of age

promises but one checked out
some none and some so many.
A clear sky to the stain of sod
markings forgotten
illness overcome

caught in a new world, a world ignored
tested in depth
measurements and toil given and gotten.
Clutched so hard
forced to move upsidedown

trapped doors and archives for
murkier dissent, gems rare and
we but dwellers of dungeons
deep.
Praying for higher and fragrance and space

alone to answer and alone to see
blue eyes wait watching
cry, cry now
Waiting.
Hating.
Praying.
Waiting.
dead
Waiting. pain
Free.

may we never need the waiting room

-bH

Pain Before the ride and Still

On the bus again.
Nose running leaking making me drown,
Sides and back all clenched in pain.
Never cry aloud or shriek or howl

It’ll be over soon.
Each stop and start a language of shakes
No humming or soothing croon
Just clenching at each bash and bump it makes

Waiting for my final jerk
Though it be seconds before that’s gone too
For the roof and rules and runs of work
I’ll hang my time and avoid that loo.

These days are same.
Until I hurt in back and nose.
This lumpy, wet dizzying game
From where few have ever rose.

-bH