Pale Boy

 pale boy trudges
through winter slush.
eyes downcast,
thoughts amuck.
He struggles to recall
the starkness of Narnia,
instead holocaust
images assault 

his inner crust. 

Neither Dainty Nor Delicate

 these scars
attest to the most brutal of tests. No rest
for the wicked, no rest for the saintly
no rest
no rest.

A Taste of Memory (for R)

 Your memory
not tasty, yet tasted
repeatedly. We cannot go back
you asserted

assertively

yet here we are

not you, but me.
I carry your multiples
casually beside me
in a leather

case
battered suitably
The problem is,
my darling,
you never stopped suiting me. 

House Remembers

 House remembers three
ungainly children, greedy
for sweets, toys, attention.
House is shyly proud
of a sunken living room, rosewood basement,
Louvre shutters a yard once
resplendent
in the days

when Master tended,
gently ruling, placating a morose
wife with woes unending.

Your Life or Mine

 In the end,
the end has come and gone.
Is this your 
life or mine?
Will you defend
the atrocities unending
or are you able
to condemn
cheap questions sent
by proxy unrepented?

such

 such simplicity
reminds us, no, presses us
up. flush. against the wall
of history.
all of you who
have died
I will (re)join you
even if only 
according to the dividing
line: living-line-dead.
There you have it
or not.
I'm a meaningless person,
but even  I understand
the arrogance of Absolute.

 Confessions are cheap,
be they sincere or not.
How will you end
your puny life?
Will it be swept away majestically?
Oh, sweet heart, unlikely.
Once I had
a Mother and a Father,
two good folk
who kindahadtoloveme.
And now? And now?
I am the quintessential
Neanderthal Girl
who lost everything
while questing Something.
Post Script:
If you think your death is consequential,
think again, non-friend,
think a

gain.