I’m a grieving thing monsters shushing stars under my tongue. I’d rather just be silent but my silence screams for audience and calls the Monster’s war. Stars surrender hide in vocal folds slide all the way down back… escape. Sometimes, I am funny. Grief is…

some things are circular in their precision golden ratio meets pi meets sience, petri-dishes magnetic fields (oval? but still) meets a car flying around a curve wheels about to break out because physics

I am Or at least I try to be Magical, not ethereal, but rooted deep in time; Turns out some of those routes are buried deep While others are blocked permanently. I have A deep love of many things; Cats and writing and wastes of…

I can’t breath For the gauze stuck in my lungs Inhaling streamers Exhaling tissues It comes out of me and hangs about my head and face Even if you can’t see me It’s a real miasma The coursers of ribbons Stuck around my face Get…

your feet fly over the stage in the rhythm of sacrifice arms linked, there is histroy here, there            is pressure on your          toe but               also pressure to       …

I fold the bed sheets, thrice. Lining them against the front of the bed, i look at the corners of the bedspread. I tuck them neatly in. I need three more hours to dust every nook and corner and plunge the dirt out Of the…

Just be still; listen silence a warm companion intimate in quiet Do not stir; listen in solitude, reflection echoing nothing Just be still; listen just listen; learn from yourself within, do without – Mark L. Lucker © 2021 http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Jabbering and yammering, Talking into tomorrow, What’s a clock? I don’t know her! Laughter echoing, Through screens and minds alike, Holding hands up to our ears, Trying to cut off the piercing noise. These the only times of silence, Between hours of conversations, Talking over…

wasn’t a burden transcribed for us. Most times, it’s not  weight that sink a ship. I know you do not like reading what was scribbled for us. I think you knew more children that I know. The cold is not leaving us soon. It has…

In the culpable darkness of the shadows, there is a thin stream of light, bordering the darkness, shining mutedly- patient, and cynical of the possibility of dawn or rainbows Homely little pockets of grief simmer at the edges, waiting to be cultivated by greedy words….