ripples in the soup bowl

when you’ve traced your secrets into the sand
with a spirit’s hand at the water’s edge
is when the tide washes in to wash it away
& now no one on earth will have ever known you

when your face can’t be a part of this world
at the ripple & quell of a wishing well
your reflection does question former times
where no one said you could be lovely

& you’re wondering why you had to obey
when you did not wish to hold a gun
& you’re wondering why she bothered to stay
when you could not put bread in her hand

those men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be more than hunters
with dusty hearts & those lifeless eyes

when grace extends only so far as merit
don’t be so loyal to your suffering
they’ve laid claim to your life without consent
& indentured you to kill in the name of

when disgrace has felled you for the last time
when the muffled gunfire burns in your lungs
when you wake into your funeral wreath
beyond the subatomic algorithm

& you’re wondering why you had to obey
when you did not wish to hold a gun
& you’re wondering why she bothered to stay
when you could not put bread in her hand

those men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be more than fodder
with dusty hearts & those lifeless eyes

you can love like no one owes you
you can give however you want
but no man can bend forever
the men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be simply human
no man can bleed forever

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

balbal (the deflowered stone)

the dawning of solace
it feels like a pauper’s dream
adrift atween the peaks of myth
adrift atween

& baba yaga looks upon them
jawline set against the sky
cliché & lies brand her the monster
cliché & lies

lost to the claggy mountains
sundered kurgan & knelled tree
old memories traced to stone
& moss her fertile crown

fumbled by affrighted hands
her former name lays in ruin
cook & eat them bantling heads
cook & eat them

how did it all go to pieces
baba embraces the silent scream
she cannot be peculiar plain
she cannot be

lost to the claggy mountains
sundered kurgan & knelled tree
old memories traced to stone
& moss her fertile crown

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

the bad seeds

when the snake & the sycophant sing
when you feel their bile in your brain
when their gravity well steals your future

their happy song
seeds your anxiety
with more anxiety

when babies become the enemies of god
when laying of hands makes more zombies
when downward dog summons demons

their pious song
seeds your anxiety
with more anxiety

when they lash the journey to your back
when the road outlasts the marathon
when you realise their song will end you

their fascist song
seeds your anxiety
with more anxiety

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

the mute observer problem

if a deaf guy falls in the forest
& no one’s around to hear it
does he make a sound

probably

he just can’t hear himself
or maybe can’t use his words
like ouch or christ

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

threshian harvest

it’s alright, it’s okay
you can lay me down now
in that circle poised for decay
or maybe tomorrow
or maybe back then
hell knows when

it’ll always be too soon
to attend such sadness but
it’s alright & it’s okay anyway

i need only as long as i get
& maybe moments more
for my life to matter
for to fill it with you
& the scenes we’ll ne’er keep
when our play is done

it’ll always be too soon
for such sadness to mend but
it’s alright to live & die anyway

you pay your debts with pain
then seek a new currency
& nurse that barb wire heart
but ask what joy would do
even when i’m gone
see, it’s alright, it’s okay

it’ll always be too soon
to pen such sadness but
it’s alright & got a poem anyway

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024