Cold west wind
Dead blunt force of a
Bumbling windchime
clanking all hell
and out of
Harmony in my ears.
Loose thoughts of a
Bended mind about
The sunset draped like
A great cathedral mural.
Again the idea of West and
Waning time.
Moon blue fingernail
Of the cosmic finger
Squeezing the trigger
Of the gun to the head of
The universal mind  then,
big bang
end of night.
Sweet life for a ride
Well ridden. The roads.
The rail, the beckoning
Sky, her great wide turns
Brewing weather, October’s punches

raining down.
We are born
Under the bird song again.

Thankful. Thankful.


Fall Back


in a study of five long years I found

time is meaningless in its measure

necessary in its application

breaking down our movements

into boxes securing blindness

making dark a thing, like enemy,

dragging the cold along, and

light, like a wanderer, like lost love,

drives by your house slow ,in long slow

circles, never a thought of reaching the

porch steps.




The Marigold

I sometimes consider the life

of a Marigold, promising spectacular

color of life in its folds, then the delivery

 and the short life,

color explodes and already

I consider the cold sleeping seed

then through winter, dreaming up

it’s next life in colors of fire.


Dad abandon

My anger turns to a deep, deep disappointment

I let it run through me daily, like

medicine, a bitter spoonful holds your

mouth closed.

You’ve already

done and told, and cursed, and threatened

broke down under your own sad weight inside.

Rested, to rally again, though the breach

widens, and the heart sickens, holding up

black wings.










What’s rising up inside is silent

first. This is not cheerful but

feel for where it is coming from and hold

yourself still

your tongue too, as it comes up further

reaches the places where

razor wire has grown like a cancer in your

body, running hot in your veins, still be still

though it commands your mind

to suffer along side the wrecked and ruined

heart and tremble


Do not reach with hands

this place

over time, runs the silver down your face and

further along you will learn how to break

over and over

you will learn to



©Sunontiepost 2016



where are we here when truth

maelable like sivler
its value only point of view
can be made of straw, set to fire,
or mashed in bricks laid where we
step over the broken
in misery
it’s not the gun or the thought of the gun
that keeps me awake at night.
I’ll come back to that later.
I can take what I can take
so there, take down all the clocks
off your walls if you’re gonna push on numbers
for the white sleeved ones
make sure
make sure
Once I was just a dark shadow bursting into a Christmas tree
so my words are just ornament and in season
and I will do all the things that seasons do.
So will you.
LO there!!
re boota meh
what did the text you just got say?
Shortly after the i.v. sedative I said to the nurse
I know there are no guns here
so go get me a scapel right now
like now like jesus told you to do it.
I can’t recall the next thing.
I don’t think he is up there above the clouds,
more like on the wind and in the cold that
runs through you, still disappointed in his son
no doubt.
                                                                     From: Redacted: a fragmented journal
©2015 sunontiepost


Source: Generator

Just discovered this author.  WOW.  Read ALL of her blog and cheer for her awards and upcoming competitions!

%d bloggers like this: