Ten Miles South

Repeating on and on without changing,

the boredom settled in

 

Lost in endless repetition,

ten miles South of what might have been

 

A broken record skipping, skipping,

the groundhog’s prediction thin

 

Burrowing out the same old hole

—ten miles South of what might have been

 

(Dreamsleep: December, 2020)

 

 

 

Bread Of Life

 

Christians flock into their churches,

travelers hit the road

 

Searching for what’s beyond their view

in spirit overload

 

To leave behind the past imprisoned,

stilted and controlled

 

The blacktop chanting “come what may”

—a eucharistic whole

 

(Dreamsleep: December, 2020)