I sit in the dark listening to Whispers from a half empty whiskey bottle. Hugging saints from a long lost age. My false teeth clattering on my Amputated glory. Windy day lovers teasing in their joy, just outside my dusty window. Laughing in their Pious gaiety and calling out names of use only to other souls. My dark eyes merely pools of regret hidden behind a cigarette. My mind answering questions dried from neglect. Regarding upright children nursing uncooked fish.

You lay in bed hearing the lost rain upon the tin roof, left idle and betrayed by the God of your childhood, who persisted past your prehension while the candent of the streetlamp begged you to preserve your soul from doubt. Sleep finally passes over and darkness defies your attention. Your eyes blackened and devoid of soul. Tending to a horse that only Jesus can ride. Ready to face another false day of pain and a mask to obscure the ripe scallywag that is your inner spirit. You awake from a troubled night of thin dreams. The sun, hidden from your preview and when it materializes, you are startled and aghast. Like holding a foreign coin in your hand. You know it has value, just not in the place you are standing. So back in your pocket it goes, lost amongst the other coins and charms of your past. John M. Valdez www.facebook.com/poetryofjohnmvaldez

Her delicate skin is like the unprinted snow. Be quiet with her soul. For it is fragile and its innocence unbound. You can never leave it untarnished, but please do not bind it and hide it from the world. That will not protect her from the brutal storm. She must be free to stumble and fall. Be present when she fails and dust the tragedy from her blouse. Allow her freedom and she will grow more beautiful with each spring. John M. Valdez www.facebook.com/poetryofjohnvaldez