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Budd Black  (email, website)


About the Poet:

Budd is a graduate of Middle Tennessee State University with a BA in English, and currently is working for Social Security Disability.  He has had two essays published as Vitamin Epiffunnies.





The word starts in jest and then bores its way into a deeper form
The metamorphosis is complete the moment that the word unwinds its way
From your lips and wiggles into anotherís ear.
It feeds on insecurities and inadequacies until it has grown large and out of control
Now the word is bent and broken, each half growing into an autonomous unit
It slithers back between the lips with much harsher intent
Manís mind, without fail, corrupts all.

Cold Heart

The heat is out
A chill fills the air
I just want to shout
But instead say, "I don't care!"
I live with the cold
But remember and relish the heat
In the frost I grow old
Too scared to leave my seat
The warmth is distant
I don't know it anymore
The cold is constant
In this unending war
I surrender



In Anticipation

The anticipation is worse than the strike
The bracing for the pain
Time slows as you wonder how much longer it will take

Once the strike lands the pain can dissipate
Your body will heal
Your soul will too, only at a much slower rate.

The Cost of Wind

Sweet bird donít fly away
Perch awhile and stay
You have chicks in you nest
You can show them best
Another wind blows
There she goes
She is gone, lost
Does she know the cost
The price that she paid
Is she just afraid
Afraid of feeling the pain
When the wind blows again