Here Lies the Doubly Dead

Here lies the doubly dead;

O, how the mighty are fallen!



drowned for good measure,

Rasputin’s fellow,

a liturgy to terror.

Shaved from the Tree of Life

with bested blade,

your clutch at green

becomes a sickly parody,

a humorless and desperate joke.

Denial let you cling to life-support

while the summer sun poured down,

but here you lie,

destined to wear

the bottom of a boot.

Dreaming of Home


Solitary confinement

has drawn invisible barriers

that hurt to break.


She travels light

and only in her dreams

will her seed rise up

to bless her.


Hers are the cries

of the gulls on the shore,

mourning her losses,

dreaming of