More December Pomes

1.

Never have I, nor

Never would God

Understand the ritual.

Have we lost our way, compassless, careless?

The cluttering of trees

Crowding the interstate

Pass by without a sound

Through the open window

Hush, hush

The air is different here when you consider

The burning bush, tires, smokefactories

I have fuel for economy trying to make sense

Sausages

The richness of design, forbidden hustle

Hidden in ravines

Is everyman’s savage lust

Crowing and biting

Anonymous and crowding

Vicious to the last breath

2.

I look for heaven in teacups, vermin

Anyplace I can alight, set down.

This place will do, tho ever non Elysian

My fortitude will hold me, us

Plentitude, the mirth of strangers

Collapsing soft upon the marsh

Soft planet, rushing sideways, tilt

Has ever captured my temper

Made complete over abundant city clouds

3.

I was, am trapped, held

Against my will

Grey matter in the back of a bus

Amid shouting and mortal development

I am water

Running down my leg

The brownbag lunch I remember sweetly, dutifully

As if it could redeem me and

My tousslebrown hair, a mess before noon

Were I to awaken then, hopeful and new, I’d wonder

How much longer?

How could any of this be

What I’m worthy of?

My autonomy, at last delivered by God’s sweet hands,

Rests, too, with me

And I avoid buses now

At all costs.