How many times
must I be reborn
before I am truly flawless?
How many times
must I beg forgiveness
before I live guilt-free?
How many times
must I repent
before I find my one true path?
A lifetime of times,
it would seem.
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Guess Who
She calls from the hills,
“If only you could see things
My way, you’d love it up here.”
She runs her hands over the logs.
Perhaps it’s indiscreet to write
About this. Obsessively she chinks.
She chinks. Lovingly her cabin
Grows, and the one she wants
To rescue from decay she knows.
She calls from the hills,
“if only you would come visit,
You’d want to stay and work for me.”
[Disposable Poem March 16, 2010]
Dr. Mike
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