Something is clutched in the darker regions tonight held oneself
sweats the sheets the residue of lesser and greater things can’t you
give me one more give me a little more and I won’t ask again
any money to spare anything that is yours is mine these songs
in my head every morning looping circling scars on what’s left
of my mind the touch of the mind chitterlings spread all across
a wide landscape around beyond O the breathing ringing those
little songs over and over what part of help don’t you understand.

Last chance for gas and food
for a thousand miles
fill up while you can
and maps don’t show this place
that range out there has never
been climbed never trailed
not even the Hopi tread
that ridge so beyond here
no one goes without
provisions.

My love for you cannot be articulated
I bore you as a Father bears His young
in the dry heat of neglect and totalness
forgive me for my adoration of you
absolve me of giving you life
help me change the strings
they are rusted they leave the scent
of blood on my calloused fingers
before a song can ever be recited
for academics for mimics who
addicted like Me
are only doing their job.

Author : L. Ward Abel

L. Ward Abel, poet, composer and performer of music, teacher, lawyer, lives in rural Georgia, has been published hundreds of times in print and online, and is the author of Peach Box and Verge (Little Poem Press, 2003), Jonesing For Byzantium (UK Authors Press, 2006), The Heat of Blooming (Pudding House Press, 2008), Torn Sky Bleeding Blue (erbacce-Press, 2010), and the forthcoming American Bruise (Parallel Press, 2012). A short Selected Poetry has just been released through West Virginia College of Law.