Phoenix

Kinda hard to taste
Anything but ashes
Crawling in the dirt of my own Making
Graveside
At my own funeral
My triumph my
Comeback and back
Again just one more
Tour

Back of the line When creation
Was handing out Reproduction
That’s for sure
No flirting, no dances No shrieking ecstasy Nesting Hatchlings with soft eyes And needy beaks

Just the dread, the frosty wide Berths on the branch, copping Side eye, this potential Disaster site, ground zero Epicentre of a built in self Destruct. Can you build A life if you die and live And die forever, did I ever Have a mother

A throttled squawk Naps a spark
Oil in the blood And then pain Like nothing deserves Every single time The burning question Will this be my final Version

I’m 48, I’ve always written poetry and I’ve never been happy with what I write until recently. I’m a bartender. I write during the day and work nights so I’m happily backwards. I’m heavily into volunteer work and find it immensely fulfilling. My writing heroes are Carol Ann Duffy, Simon Armitage and Clive Barker.