Sinners hurt. While moonlight cracks open like a walnut, spreads soft light across open sky, they dart to alleyways, bury themselves behind their own trails shaking fists at the sky; hiding their nasty nonsense in shame, city buildings rattle their bricks, mortar loose at their rib cage.
All men think they are sword men, daggers in darkness. All women think they are entry points leaning against brick walls, slender on sidewalks past midnight, nothing but shadows, twitching of lips. Women look for drawing cards in their makeup kits. No one cares jackals, scavengers, men tempted by night. Thunder dreams hammer at their ears, rains urinate sins on street corners, mice crawl away to small places shamed.
Early morning crows fly. Footsteps scatter directions as sunlight sprouts. Misdeeds carry no names with them they trip blind, racing to morning jobs. Sin hurts staples in women’s lungs, staples dagger in men’s ribs.
Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, Illinois. Mr. Johnson published in more than 1037 publications, his poems have appeared in 37 countries, he edits, publishes 10 different poetry sites. Michael Lee Johnson, Itasca, IL, nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards for poetry 2015/1 Best of the Net 2016/and 2 Best of the Net 2017. He also has 169 poetry videos on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/user/poetrymanusa/videos. He is the editor-in-chief of the anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530456762 and editor-in-chief of a second poetry anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses which is available here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1545352089. Michael is also editor-in-chief of Warriors with Wings: the Best in Contemporary Poetry, a smaller anthology available now: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1722130717
And with a gust of defeat; the future seems familiar. Has the oneness forgotten about me? The interconnectedness of futile Embellishments followed by straights of garbage, lack-luster trash, soul-less sirens of shit-laced spines, irrelevance, trains without brakes. Exposure, death, the
Jesus watches over us Jesus is watching to protect The lost and the wandering sinner Those who cry out to our Savior Believing Jesus is with us forever Jesus, friend of the weary and Those wandering, lost in this world
Strangers from incident, lies for distance, pitfalls of living infrequent, Rushes of sympathy pass over like fever sweat. In concurrent motion the wolves swarm on the lifeless carcass. Impending emotions fill the hole in my stomach, my chest continues to