the tomb is empty
yet i am not
god has found a new place
your tent, my soul, lord
your tent, my soul
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2008
the tomb is empty
yet i am not
god has found a new place
your tent, my soul, lord
your tent, my soul
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2008
like a bucket i’m kicked
on the ground all around
until i spill a river of tears
empty now
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2008
many moons ago
where the sands meet the grey sea
the moose left footprints
leading nowhere & beyond
the call of glowering gulls
where were they going
how were they so far from home
who will ever know
many suns ago
when we did not fear the waves
we left a kelp chain
‘tween the sand dollars & jags
& the smell of iodine
where were we going
dull heavens in place of home
keys sunk in the sea
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
misanthrope’s been afraid all along
even tho’ he’s been feigning strong
has it not all been said before
look, a tower; look, a flower
something about the balance of power
no one listens that needs to repent
& no one’s yelling that needs to dissent
we’re all cooked as the world flames on
& now he’s wondering who left the gas on
he sees there’s no sea change coming
while others pledge to hate & kill
& just one more messianic stare
ought be enough to tip him off the edge
of a sanity pilling with unicorns
he suspects our god is flawless evil
that mercy’s become the devil’s trade
how long ’til the sun peeks over the yardarm
’til mankind swaps out the blood for gin
has this ship of fools sailed merry away
away off the edge of yesterday
where messiah’s blood was not asked for
nor its spiteful resurrection
misanthrope has his life by the noose
between an ocean & fire
here at the point of no return
look, a tower crushes the flower
sanity’s pilling with unicorns
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
rain waters carry down the street
somebody’s orange flip flops
now, could that hue be less discreet
hell’s bells, no, probably not
maybe somewhere in darkest drains
mutant turtles wait for the drop
flip flops plopping into the mains
nab ’em for keeps, ready or not
sitting ‘tween soaked pizza cartons
two small, obnoxiously bright suns
they would’ve preferred doc martens
but beggars can’t be choosers, hun
later tonight when rain in’s done
all of their non-refundables
out of warranty dibs & dums
will join the flip flop cupboard rubble
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025