Firework Fire red, fire white Paint the sky your hue tonight Paint the midnight air with the dregs of war Nevermore To break down castle door Nevermore To rule on high as fear Nevermore To hail a battle here Nevermore and never once again Show terror or harbor fear and dread Let our ancient means of war Bring peace and love forevermore
Nature and The Aftermath Moonlight illuminates The gnarled remainder of a tree The soft humming of locusts sing As the silvery dregs of dawn wash away And go around the world in a single day And reallight as the moon sets again But in that brief moment of midnight A calmness settles herself in the earth Soft and gentle across the bruising waves Water washing and scrubbing the tidal sands Red water mixed with black and blue Soft upon the gnarled roots Gentle, like a savior’s hands on an aged foot Kindly singing as the tree receives his fair share of life Amid the rising moon Steady with the current Smooth and unchallenging in its course Soft and smooth upon the breast of the new fallen sky Calm and quiet as it watches the waters sway And the poor old trees sighing with their kindness Beneath the Glowing Starless Sky
Winter Maiden The grass lay frozen on her toes A rose nearby, single in its field of ice Slicing through the pearly white with a dash of red Bled from a girl with her toes in the snow Shown no mercy by the passing years Tears shed in her name now trapped in her gaze Saved from oblivion by silvery misting Sitting in circles on her pale white skin A grin the color of a blood red rose Toes hidden in the frozen blades on the ground. Now, the winter maiden stands her ground.
World Drivers I was told at a young age that it was Their hearts that drove the sea Their hands that shaped the beaches Their breath that made the storms But I look now and I see that Their hearts don’t beat no more That Their hands are only bones now and the sand goes right through them That Their breath stopped long ago
Now it’s My turn
Introverted Me, I like ants People say they scrabble about Unimportant, undevout To unfriendly human rants That dominate the world
Me, I look to unfurl The curly hairs Bound in pairs On a French curl Which all girls find pretty
Me, I write my own witty Jokes and puns Riddles and runs Trapped in a piano’s ditty Like the scurry of an ant
Me, I know I can’t Make music, laugh and dance Play games, speak names, run and prance When I’m smothered in a human rant Like the unwanted light of day
Me, I sneak away To my hole deep underground Where away without a sound I see each day From my darkness as light
Me, I know that I’m not right People say that I am off That I am small or high aloft They don't know my thoughts and sight Like the ants who eat us when we die.
In the Midst of Decay When I was alive the world was free The taste of the earth in water and tree I was happy as a fly in May The land was free; the world would play But now here I am all alone Surrounded by walls and cobblestone Surrounded by hard and painful things That ate my body Ate my wings That had carried me to my destiny When I was alive and the world was free
Ignorance is Bliss Ignorance is beyond compare A torture the mind can’t comprehend It eats your eyes It eats your mouth Then it eats your mind It loves to eat And its teeth are so small You won’t feel them eating your flesh You won’t feel them blurring your eyes You won’t feel your own gore dripping Into hungry mouths Your life will go What Bliss
Aspidochelone She glides through the water Ancient Fair The sign and semblance of purity and care Natural and sweet With roses red as beets On her midnight isle She harbors at dawn
Lifting up the mountains With ribbon mouth drawn While squids and morbid thoughts Float like specters through her shell No message does she tell When the wind whistles through her plains And brushes over withered stains Of human recreation on her fair and noble back The ocean is a mess Full of creatures and distress And there is no peace on the great and peaceful sea
And yet she glides so carefully And yet she lives so peacefully Her needs are always met and see Their place along her spine There is no reason to fear time Only she who holds it on her back
Only she who glides through water With an island on her back
Weekly Poems
(Feb 11th)Queen Serenity A frosty pine tree forest at dawn Harbored deep within her a delicate fawn And from far away it seemed so serene
Until the forest rang with gunshots And axes And the trees were cut down And houses moved in Cookie-cutter shaped Chopping up the landscape And from far away it seemed so serene
Until a famine struck and blight Passed down the street to the knell of the bell For a long time nothing was well And from far away it seemed so serene
Because from faraway everything is quiet And time moves so quickly from faraway Minuscule flaws are here and gone in a day And the minuscule other world appears so silent And quiet
Until there is a pine tree forest once again And serenity is Queen by another quiet dawn
(Feb 18th)Quiet Freedom She let her emotions fall like a Louis Wain cat Her mind had gone into a realm and it resembled that realm The thoughts and fears laid themselves in interlocking order on the floor They fell and fled in all directions and in all kinds of shapes They rolled into diamonds and triple ringed circles They outlined parapets and torches and bade strange colors into existence From within them came pigments of all hues and tastes So vivid was what she felt That it expressed itself Without words having to be said Each soundless phrase came in two parts And they complemented each other in chaotic serenity Spiking like lightning across the floor They grew and developed and more and more They came to resemble a face It was a face of a girl who like a cat Was quiet in her ways But her emotions knew no bounds As they sprawled across the page
(Feb 25th) Storybook A silver scepter A purple road A red-black sky Dotted with white And bright Shining green from far east A gray glowing from off west And the haze of a mountain in the distance My old storybook holds Too much of its own I fear its hidden hideouts And strangled colors And all that it hides from me Might break it one day
And that day is near I fear When man too will break From the load that we bear
Will we splatter into colors? Or will be disappear? Will we know what’s deep inside? Or will it die in here?
(March 4) Poetry It is not a stack of paper It is a frozen waterfall that still runs It is not a pile of pens and ink It is a bandage sprinkled with sugar It is not an empty wineglass It is a storm cloud with lightning without thunder It is the thunder That rings when the sky is blue And the eyes of the fish that swims In a river three feet frozen with tears of joy
It is the song that rings In silver, in gold, in brass, and in Steel Steal it And it will continue on to the end of time anyway
(March 11) Golden Minstrel's Death Each cloud spat silver on the cold hard ground The day Golden Minstrel died She sat on her side in the mud and Red water sucked at her horns Dust and dirt condensed on her lolling tongue Golden Minstrel died on her side in the mud Her hooves beat little though She seemed nearly content to fall asleep one last time in the muck She called home Just once more She balked at the thought when she coughed just once Just once And she lay down her head again Her golden eyes slid shut And one would think that she smiled at the sky As she died And off she went And quietly so Asleep temporarily So it seemed
So peaceful So quiet So dead
(March 18)Fallen Tree The rope tightened around the Tree trunk Down the hill the creature barked again This time angrily The tree knew it would not withstand Or stomach The force of the big beast’s pull It waited As a good tree should When tied And waited as another rope wrapped around his waist
The tree was often scared but he was Also strong And even strong trees must face Their fears The storng tree stood tall Not for long For the big monster down the hill Was ready And like a strong tree He fell
And took his death As if it were another day Of life
(March 25) Schoolyard Fear The blue sky seemed heavy on her head The white tufts of its hair were nowhere to be seen The brown tufts from her scalp weighed down with sweat Made her imagine an ocean Or a swimming pool That would accept her late homework And take it to the grave
She just wanted to soar Like the sky But even the sky is weighed down by bad grades And rains And water slips into the grave Like tears on her face And the sky says Someday The dome will return And doom will go away And that late assignment Will be nothing more than a cloud in the sky
(April 1) The Term Paper “Your term paper” I blinked nonetheless “I’m… sorry?” “Is it a he, a she, or an it?” “My term paper?” “Yep” Her smile was quite wide Her eyes were quite kind Then her face crumbled a little when mine stayed still “It’s fine” She swatted the air as if there were a fly “It’s just a joke” “No, no, it’s a she” “Hm?” “Oh, my, uh, term paper” She swatted the air again “It’s a joke” “It’s a she” She blinked a couple of times “Oh” She nodded as if she had swallowed a lemon seed
I glanced down on my stack of papers The painted eyes of an 18th Century politician frown back up “What, am I not a girl to you?” “Do you want to choose your gender?” The picture deepened its sneer I thumbed through the paper’s work All its footnotes and linebreaks All that work “You act like a girl” “So do you” My hand stills over one page “Did I hurt you?” “Is it because I have so much work on?” “Hm?” It is true She — it — she is covered in work and effort All decked up to impress “Can a boy do this?” “No — yes — no — I don’t know” “No” I let the paper flip shut “You don’t” I put her back in my bag I’ll look at it tomorrow
“When will I start my period?” I blink nonetheless “Well?” “You shouldn’t, it’s painful” “Why not?” I shake my head to clear it The librarian would think I was acting strange “Have you started yours?” “What?” The picture in a black suit shrugs “You’re acting strange” “Says you” I sigh and flip through it again “So you’re a girl then” “I am a she” “Good” I make an edit on the last page with red pen “Would it be different if I was a he?” I adjust a footnote “Would I be weird?” “No” “Tell me the truth” “No!” I catch a spelling error on page 3 “It would be weird because I have to have things done to me, I can’t do them myself” I pull out my computer “That’s why I’m a girl” “No, you’re a girl because you are one” I scroll over the whole thing before plugging in the edits “Will I ever stop changing?” I shrug “You will have to” “Will you ever stop changing?” “Yes — no — yes” “You don’t know?” I flip through the pages, looking for the final fixes “I don’t know either” “It’s time for sleep again” “And what will you do?” I put her back in my bag, press print, and head downstairs
“You look beautiful” “You’re just saying that” I glance at my bag in the back seat “What, are there typos on you?” “Maybe … I don’t know” I can see the wrinkles in the man’s face They look like the palm of my hand “You can be a she and not a girl if you want” The car lurches over a something “I don’t know” “Do you wan to be a girl” The highway seethes with cars speeding twenty miles per hour over the limit “I just want more time” I sigh as an SUV with a BABY ON BOARD sticker whizzes past, honking in anger “I want some more of that too” “But am I done?” “Yes — no — yes — I don’t know” I can see the exit It is quiet in the neighborhood Birds chirp in the trees “I don’t know”
First period, I turn her in She comes back five weeks later with a B+
(April 8) The Mother Bring my daughter into my arms! Underneath my love you will be safe Running from no danger or trouble Need for anything will never find you here
Here we are safe Embraced with the ones you love Remember that you will always find a home in me
(April 15) Stones The heart shaped stone is the tricky one It’s not like the blue stone Or the yellow stone Or the orange stone Because while the blue stone is the Bringing of water And the Yellow stone is the White cheeks And the orange stone is the Heaven-fallen The heart shaped stone does many more things It came make blood Like the red stone It can make love Like the fire shaped stone It can make madness Like the yellow stone and the brain shaped stone But most importantly
My sister held the heart shaped stone up to the light Above the drawers where she kept the magic stones
It can be broken
(April 22) The Dangerous Dawn Newborn babies A bloody knife Washed in a waterfall Where children play Sharks swim too As translucent And unseen As a midmorning spring In the middle of winter
Did you see it? The little scars in the sea? Where knives are cast And where babies play?
I saw it And let it slip away Like the moments that pass right Before dawn
The blood is washed in the waterfall And is seen no more
(April 29) Grandmother Vita
My hair is as pallid and flaking as Leftover Ash My eyes are as dark as The night wind in the desert My skin is like a pillow Of blubber clothed in leather My hands are like windchimes In the eye of a hurricane The shivers that run across me are like Rodents or children My children are like The wind that comes from the fireplace My bones are as fragile as Lake mist My breath is as soft as The spring peepers when they sense danger My spine is as bent as The swingset pole from my childhood My heart is as red and living as If it were its first day one Earth
(May 7th) Klimbers Peak Klimbers peak is the smallest mountain in the whole country It barely breaches the treelike It hardly hits the sky Its slopes slant like the beaten hills of Rome Its peak is flattened like forlorn tree stump It has grass not rocks It has slope not height Its nothing to admire
But the view from the top There’s nothing higher than that
(May 13th) Salad Making She smeared her knife With the blood of celery and tomatoes She thrust the copper blade Through romaine and cabbage Her arms felt a jolt Like a child running out to recess She tore out the hearts of apples Beat lemons into submission Her impulses drove knives Deep into the sides of kiwis Her copper blade became warm She blood seemed to race Like the sun beating down after a running child Running home to eat Or running away
And the salad was finished
(May 20th) The Freshwater Squids People tell me That the freshwater squids are BIG That the freshwater squids are HAIRY That the freshwater squids are PERVERTS That the freshwater squids have GIANT eyes That there is NO good about them That the only GOOD thing about them is That they STAY PUT That the freshwater squids drown PEOPLE That they eat PEOPLE That they hate PEOPLE That they are some kind of MONSTERS
All I know is that I once gave one a sandwich And she thanked me I’ve been happy ever since
(May 27th)The Way Stories Are Like cat fur Different hairs run together They start and stop and Their roots grow into other hairs Every hair seems to stop But the number of those hairs makes it Impossible to Count the magnificent amount of hair on that beast And the whole thing itself stands up and walks And acts like a stuck-up son of a Gun and has a mind of its own
Every individual hair is part of a giant moving thing And there are many giant moving things that move together On an even bigger moving thing That’s moving all the time
(June 3)Dust Oh! How they fly when the air is let in! Like waiting birds trapped behind tin They soar and gallop on an unfelt wind! How wonderful! How dazzling! How free may they be! How free when the air is let in!
(June 10)The Behemoth in Blue Somewhere around here’s the Behemoth in Blue Twelve thousand eyes aimed that cry out on cue Ten thousand fingers that tap on the ground A giant white tail that it carries around Pineapple skin prickles over its back Its organs are filled with bullets and tack Three hundred panels of triple-paned glass Covered its head like a bleak-shiny rash Over 60 feet high was the Behemoth in Blue Created by man and destroyed by them too Somewhere around here the Behemoth still lies Spewing oil and gas and a home for the flies Someday its blood will poison me too But why not? That’s what it was made to do
(June 17)The Junoline So long ago set out the ship Junoline Laden down with treasure both commonplace and fine The ship was cursed without a centerpiece to eye Upon the breast of her hand-crafted crest when she set out upon the sea
Junoline set out just as dawn had broke The sea was dark around the blue-sailed boat An array of dazzling jellyfish still float The way they did as away she slid out upon the sea
Though she was governed by no captain’s command And none of her crew their stations would man Such was she made to sail without hand Without man could she roam so skillfully alone out upon the sea
So Junoline was skimming as only she can Happy, content, pleasant, bland When from the whelms of her cargo ran A mess of rodents distressed on her deck out upon the sea
The rat were tamed but not subdued And as their numbers grew and grew They got together and spoke until their faces turned blue Took up arms, mutinied, and overthrew the crew out upon the sea
Poor Junoline was helpless against her own brood Their sights turned on each other, violence renewed Wars and violence and factions ensued As miniature floods of angry rat blood fell out upon the sea
This was only the start of Junoline’s pains Despite years without storms, without rains Without issues outside her rails and windowpanes The sea opened soon to a swirling whirlpool out upon the sea
While the Junoline fought gallantly the grasp From the whirlpool’s angry pull, strong and fast Even as a bright burning eye glowed from the middle of the mass The rats waged war upon war and felled score upon score of themselves out upon the sea
No whirlpool will swallow the Junoline But the rats who have destroyed the treasures commonplace and fine The rats who have ripped their ship apart with a hungry eye They are those who will close this story out upon the sea
(June 24)Last Snowfall of Spring Once up high in the sky Flying and driving around in a cloud All laughing and free in a mist of heat Heat kept alive by fake fire inside Fake flames and fake tongues are not strong Not powerful not smart in no way wise The skies have other demons on high Those demons are cold Cold are the clouds Now comes the great dragon himself and Poof those flames out up high in the sky And once there’s no fire no driving no flying No flying all falling out down from the sky Out down out and down such a terrible down All those pin and brick buildings pinpricking the ground Was there a ground? not high in the sky But you can’t stay in the sky without a fake fire There never was fire The fire was Lie Lie down as the clouds spit you out of the sky Lie down as the ground comes rushing close by And Lie with the Lie on the pin and brick ground No flying no driving no laughing on the ground No flying no driving no laughing no free No none of that Before it’s too late Melt
Away
(July 1)Purpose A portrait Of Aurora Borealis Glimmering with baby blues and salmon pinks melting Into ocean hues and ruddy rubies Over Star spangled mountains of iridescent Ice against a black and Oily Sky My face goes closer to the pristine frame What do you mean?
A raccoon Early morning Guillotined by a car in the night\ Glimmer of ruddy ruby eyes Curling fibers of salmon pink spread Over a canvass of tainted baby blue skin Across the oily road Ocean hues rain down from the Black Sky My face goes closer to the murdered martyr What do you mean?
(July 8th)Taxidermy Armadillo Armored like obsidian Covered as if with a cloud Of brazen rolling thunder frozen as it is loud Armored like a soldier Covered in umber stone Of death-cold brackish diamond that walks with time alone Armored like desire Covered up like fate Of warring gory heroes divine in every trait Armored down you Crawl around Roll and hide Your armor lies Just within your armored skin A mother's womb of flesh is hid Did you know What hides below?
Here you are A painted star The star addition Of the coalition Of Taxidermy Animals of skin as soft as dawn
What does you armor mean now.
(July 15)Step Outside the Maze Psyche and me Walk down to the sea And left the Daffodils’ Plain Where I had seen a spire Only mossy stones remain
Psyche was still As dew on the sill Of a windowpane painted with oil Where I had once been eased Now bathed me in seeking and toil
I ran to and fro To the attic — down below Psyche soon rested her hand on my arm “You win nothing with searching Seeking nothing finds nothing but harm”
The fallen spire Cold and dire As empty and full as a maze We walk back up to the labyrinth And enter again the Daffodils’ Plain
(July 22)The Wooden Knife A knife of wood Upon my throat A hurricane of breath Held in check I could push this thing away I could pull the storm clouds to my face But I sit here instead Worrying about splinters
(Jul 31)Pu-Erh and Soy Something is buried underneath
The city skyscrapers reach high The sun beats down
Something is buried underneath
The rain splatters upward The mist floats down
Something is buried underneath
I watch myself grow upwards I watch headstones in the ground
Something is buried underneath
The wind harvests the scents and sounds from the ground And drags them around Her scythe still swinging
Between the skyscrapers and people and just beneath the clouds Wind is taking the sweets of the land around And filling up Everything
And something is still buried underneath
What is it?
(August 5)Flashlights of Cyberia A rogue robot has little place in Cyberia The speeding streetcars and shining windows don’t sit with it well An old robot has little place in Cyberia Where hovercars race And aged androids chase After newer parts just placed on the shelf With joints creaking and squeaking And eyelids winking and blinking Models long forgotten walk the backstreets of Cyberia Glitches cause their eyes to glow (That was fixed so long ago) And in the silver falling snow they’re called the “Flashlights of Cyberia” Snow falls in Cyberia It’s wet and cold and sticky on limbs Often seen in snowy Cyberia Flashlights waddling through a white torrential wind Wading toward an overhanging or some covered alleyway Suddenly the lights go out And don’t come on again No one seems to wonder when all the Flashlights will go out
(August 12)Birth of the Blue Flower The mountain air always tightens before a storm The Blue Flower does not worry Its sed lies silent in the ground Thunder rolls above the blackened mountain cliffs Sending a shock toward the ancient space As it waits in a small patch of rocky dry dirt
(August 19)The Faraway God Every day I watch the parade go by Across the plain from my little hovel home From faraway towns All around they come Marching and singing and chanting among themselves A few spaces go by A few times when I sit outside and see no one Otherwise they might come with banners and flags Talking so loud I can hear them in my home At night I sit and Think about it I know where they’re goin They’re going to the Faraway God The one who constantly demands praise They say it would be good for me Go pray to the Faraway God Perhaps I want to join their parade Perhaps I want to see that castle they march to Perhaps I want to join in their chanting But Then again Why waste time on worship? Why worship what I will become? So instead I sit alone Watch the parade go by And say nothing
(August 25)In the Midst of Decay When I was alive the world was free The smell of the Earth in water and tree I was happy as a fly in May The land was free; the world would play Now, here, I am all alone Surrounded by walls and cobblestone Surrounded by hard and painful things That ate my body Ate my wings That had carried me to my destiny When I was alive and the world was free
Lounging around Wave up, wave down Wave up, wave out Storm-silent day
Gray oars left forlorn White clouds unannounced Black sea so serene Storm-silence it key
Then, suddenly A wash of tidal wave Monsoon clouds ablaze Stormy waves, stormy day
Stormy black head rising out of the waves Story black eyes blocking out stormy skies What sky? What wave? What more than the sight Of the ancient black monster come to take back the sea?
It’s the ship that he sees Sturdy and orderly Content, fat, lazy Where storm-silence is key
With the screaming of timber and cracking of bone Down she goes, down she goes And once her mast is eons below Here it is: the storm-silent day
Here is the sea Calm, serene Pleasant and green Every storm-silent wave
(September 9)Painting of Reality I was painting a picture of real life How weird real life looks How strangely the colors blend How odd the shapes are When the out of context Under my scrutinizing eye the world was Fake Unreal Strange Odd And weird Demonic in its aspects Glittering in its insanity of “Perfect sense” As I looked about I saw the Unnaturalness of the nature I had come to know The exceptions in perception I had come to accept The unruly corners between wall and floor The glowering crux made by armchair arms The glassy reflections of windows Hazy and crude to my eyes And even the world outside With all its man-made hills and creaking towers Seemed Wrong Untrue A glitch in the system of my mind Unnatural Crude Weird Unreal Yet reality all the same
(September 16)Taxidermy Mule One day he Sweats his way into the world Battles the war against the ground Screams a lone cry to the early sun Tramples on the numberless enemies Pours his life into Every seed And every step The next day he Is gutted of organs Is drained of his blood Is drowned in formaldehyde Is stuffed until his skin Is taut And still Now he stands there No different than the Trojan horse Never to walk Or toil Again.
(September 23)Creation of the Crack When it first came around It looked scary It snarled like a mangy cat And it smelled like one On the cold bleak pavement It fell asleep Fretting like a fish out of water We all pondered what it Dreamed Felt While sleeping on our street
But in the morning When we came out to feed it
It was gone And so the Crack remains
(September 30)Magic Kettle At first the kettle began to rust Shiny bronze to scubby black We rubbed it off and it came back We rubbed it off and it came back We kicked and slapped and snarled at that little pot “You stupid thing!” my mother said “We paid that magician twelve bucks for this!” We threatened it with a hammer We threatened it with a spoon We struck it with a hammer It didn’t leave a dent “You stupid thing!” my mother cried “How could you rob us like this?” “I trusted you!” “I trusted you!” We threw it in the river It bobbed up to the surface We stepping going to the river Until with the flood the river came to us And the kettle bloomed into hyacinths and gold
(October 7)Childhood Dream To let the wind whistles through my bones And carry me across the hidden pathways of air To watch trees dance in circles with fireflies on their branches And let the sigh of piercing light from the automobiles penetrate and lift up my skin To sing alongside the hurricane wind And go where it goes through the trees in the forest To sink into the earth where the earthworms And pillbugs and grasshoppers may explore my veins and heart To let the world take what is its from me And let my soul fly away and be free Those few and far distant dreams are what keep me alive
(October 14th)The Trail To those whose footsteps I follow: You did not walk in vain While your bones the earth does swallow Your path still clear remains I follow you through snowy steeps Down crevices and dunes A steady stream of stories I leave In case I join you soon In case my steps do not grow strong In case the mud shall replace the floor Should I go singing and skipping along While my feet fade to what was before When I join you in oblivion My our twin tracks remain obsidian
(October 21)Quilt Singular was I I was strong I could walk like the wind Down the braided knots of time Across gateways and pathways And through hidden doors in hollow halls I would traverse With the ease of a needle pulling string Now bound Singular are we We are strong We walk like a wave Across the tangles of existence We roam In highways and byways and alleyways of knotted string We cover hidden needleheads And pull the world along
How many more must be bound Until we are too strong Or cannot walk about?
(October 28)The Makeup Artist My first impression: Beautiful She was beautiful A perfect Venus Cut up jeans against her mocha skin And her arrow eyebrows against her bun of wicker hair Wine lips against chocolate cheeks Steely eyes against simple black attire How she caught my eye A perfect Venus Perfect
It was the double chin that caught me first A hump A little whaleback That swelled at the base of her jaw
Then it was the hump of her belly A hunch that I had not noted before Bigger than my head It made me wonder if she was pregnant
Then it was her eyebrows again There was no hair there My eyes sprawled across that angelic face Tasteless lips Scraggletipped hair Catacomb eyelashes Entombing mortal pupils and corneas
What was it that caught me still? My last impression: Doctored Played with Painted Fake
(November 4)Stutteridden Sea Though the river runs smooth The surface is ridden with ripples Pure water woven over glass Penetrated at every curve Every time By froth and foaming gloating over purity and smooth The sand is soft to touch But every grain is roughened Toughed spheres with needle-edged gullies Spanning forests of gnarled pikes The skin is smooth and languid Until it reaches a hair A hard stop The orchestra falls silent Music seems to flow Until that one note There’s always a one note Isn’t there Music flows like the ocean Like a desert of skin Like seaglass on fingertips Like a river Ridden with ripples Penetrated Rough Stopped
My tongue echoes what it knows It rolls and froths and gnarls and falls Silent I open my mouth as if to echo the sea The roughness in speaking shuts me up
I open my mouth to music And I glide like a river Rid of ripples Smooth Every time
(November 11)The Engine-Maker So
The most important thing about runnin’ this engine is You got to feed it If you don’t put no bullets in your gun Or you don’t feed your cow any grass You ain’t gonna shoot nothin’ or get any milk for breakfast So put somethin’ or other in the engine when it’s needing And it’s needing a lot
Next
Give it a rest You can’t work it all day and all night And s’pect it’ll keep kicking Like if you keep kickin’ your cow You ain’t about ta get anywhere fast
And then
You got to tell it it’s pretty Don’t you look at me like that You tell it it’s a good little engine That it’s doing just what it should be doing Nothing more, nothing less Now cut that out I know other young-un’s like you They kick their engines mighty hard Worse than they kick sacks of hay And their engines either sputters up and dies or Explodes or some sorts T’ain’t never a pretty sight
So You feed it You sleep it You love it And there you go.
Come back in a hundred years and tell me how you did.
(November 18)Herald of the Red Tide With midnight dawning my yawning eyes beheld A massive figurine bescreened on the helm With a form being fetched from a dream I had seen When I was back home and alone with grass beneath I tugged at the Captain’s collar and seemed to scream “What is that beautiful monster I see?”
He looked with a book over my way But, surprised was I, the night was clear as day And though I sifted and searched on the ship’s upper lip I could find not a thing confirming that thing which I swore had before menaced at me like a switch “What was there?” The Captain glared, and I screamed “IT!”
The Captain laughed his big bellied laugh And said like he always had said “You’re playing with me. There is nothing here besides you and me.” “And the sea.” But that he would not believe No, he does not believe, he laughs at me He does not see the sea or the specters I see The ship will crash, the ship will burn The ghosts will our ship overturn I warn and I warn but to no one I yearn No one will listen, no one will learn
Not until the red tide shall turn
(November 25)Endless Night His iron feet beat like clockwork As he trudges down the hall He clutches the banisters Ringing the well worn stairs His armor fills with silence There is little room for any else His eyes ever hollow every searching Compare like the black nail in the clock’s face Tick tock Tick tock Little knight Little day Remains Even after the last bell He stays And walks the impossible geometry of the figure eight Twin emptiness connected by an endless highway Like his eyes Nailed into his armor His hoary limbs clinking and ticking As he trudges down the hall Tick tock Tick tock Where are you going Endless knight? There where dreams die
(December 2)Inner Altar I never knew the taste of fire Until I met you I never knew the color red Until I met you I never felt the lion’s mane I never kissed the burning flame I never knew the lovely taste Sweet fire in the fireplace Burn bright within me Until you meet with me again
(December 9)Caligula's Fence I can just imagine him Place his hand on a wooden fence Or a strong stone wall And say “this is merely a pebble A piece of wood with which To beat someone with. You can’t hold me For I see No lines drawn in my mind. No lines, no lines…” A free mind had he A free hand with free power He says to himself “I lived adult as a child Now I play a child as adult For anything else is adultery Anything else that apes as me Forgets me For I am he Who is still as once I said: I have no lines drawn in my head No lines, no lines…”
He says on the city street “I am he who shall be free Draw your daggers in my skin You can never win me Though blood desert my body You will never win I am he who has no lines drawn in No lines, no lines, Not a single stone wall Not a single piece of wood.”
Me, I place my hand on a picket fence Falling apart at my fingertips And I shudder For my head is full of lines And I would rather that bother it Kneel before my father fence I say “I love you, ancient fence.” I mean to say “I fear you” For I have lines drawn in my head Lines, lines, lines lines lines
(December 16)A title is a Powerful Thing “I will hold your hand.” “I will watch you through the glass.” “I will wait for you.”
(December 23)The Forest of Death Asleep in the sweet sweet sun I dream of the forest of death Of leaves left unseen as broad as men’s chests Of treasured sap sweet and slick and savory as blood Of babbling brooks where baubles bounce in the breeze I dream of the forest of beautiful death Where never a soul nor a breath Has ever disturbed a single tree A single branch A single leaf
I dream I shall walk the forest someday Someday when all the scales have dropped away Away to those untapped passages I shall go I hope to know of the stories woven into every truck The baggage carried by every blade of grass The sharpened words within the whispering canopy I wish to hear of Eleusis and Elesia From tongues that never speak a word I wish to walk a path paved with stories Where no animal wise or cunning Has ever tread before But I know no animals can live in the forest of death Its soothing air and sacred breath Cover the throat with poisonous pollen Fill up the stomach with venomous voices Providing pure providence Exiling everything Even life Nothing lives in the forest of stories
I dream I shall see The forest of beautiful death
(January 6)Our Name is Mok I think we can all sort of see ourselves in there We can all make that character live and breathe We can all identify with him (to a point, of course) The greatest of great Constantly showing a sense of power Condescending attitude The way he looked The things he said We can all identify with that need That thirst We can all identify
I think we can sort of see ourselves in there The greatest of great Quite paranoid In the things he said A death-mask gladiator costume You know The constant fighting that comes with elevated ease You always feel positive Rising through the ranks Until constantly showing a sense of power Throws you into a tunnel of Dark spaces surrounded by madness Quite paranoid Great levels of power Dark spaces We can all identify That starving That filling but never being filled
Why?
Because, no matter how we try Our voice — perfected by time — Can never sing the right notes When we really need them
(January 13)Birds of a Feather Birds of a feather Fall together And splatter in a bloody heap together In any weather Ask one whether He or she would die for their feather Whether yes whether no a feather is still a fetter Drawing the boundaries of being together No one really knows the power of “feather” Until someone dares insult their feather And then two feathers fight together And fall together And splatter in a bloody heap together But in the end we’re all covered in feathers Feathers and fetters that draw the letters in our many many names
(January 20-27)Farewell my Love Hello again my little friend I’ve come a-talking as I’m walking to your grave It’s fine to see you little friend The world’s grown older getting bolder just the same
Oh, I find it strange How the world forgets But how your memory always gets back home To haunt me so
Welcome home my little friend Everything you left I’m keeping just the same It’s grand to have you little friend Your presence thrills me and it chills me like the grave
Oh, I find it strange How the world forgets But how your memory always gets back home To haunt me so
Come along my little friend There’s much to show you as it grows above the grave So much has changed little friend Although it burns we two in turn will stay the same
Oh, I find it strange How the world forgets But how your memory always gets back home To haunt me so
I’ll come to see you little friend When time for mourning comes a-calling just the same I won’t forget you little friend Though you died young our bonds were strong into the grave
Oh, I find it strange How the world forgets How everybody just forgets I find it strange Living in the past where your young life will always last I promise I will not forget Oh no You haunt me so You’ll haunt me so I’ll always love you so
(February 3)Fruitful Fight I have fought for fifty years The war with the vampires I have smoked them in the fire And held them by their ears I’ve beaten them with stick and rings And used a bat and other things I have fought this fight for fifty years
I have never seen a vampire I suppose one looks like desire
But I have fought for fifty years, And will fight for fifty more
(February 10)Crocodilian Pride Grinning Gregor Gharial greater than a gallon of grapes Laughs and grins one day at the big bright blazing sun Ms. Sun glares at grinning Gregor Gharial and says “Not even a gregarious gator would like your beaky bill for a son.” But grinning Gregor Gharial says “you may be bright” through his snippy snappy grin “But in a muscled match of mash and mincings I would always win.”
(February 17)Life is a dream, and dreams themselves are dreams So as we dream about these tunneling halls These hanging portals on the walls These stairs simultaneous spiral up and down We dream around as we gaze about We admire walls built with hand and mind And sigh when they are eroded by time As if we don’t store in our minds the originals Copied and made very small Maybe a bookcase or a monster when we close our eyes It matters not, but what is found within the mind Are dreams made of dreams which make reality Which is why a wall and you can be anything effectively
But when the dreams begin to slide — walls are no more their original size Suddenly the power in dreaming life resides — Memory fades and in come shades of night That is just an early sign of the end Of night, of dreaming, of walls, of April, and when The time to loose the dream has come and rung The dreamer is wrapped in sleep, as other dreams continue on
(February 24)Louis Wain's Pictures You hack down my steadfast reasoning tree “The art and the artist shall separately be seen” When I see your paintings like Penelope’s tapestry I see only your soul’s fighting sanity Boiling in a disease, spewing colors like dreams That exhume old memories that simmer and seethe Through your seas of scattered islands of colors and designs You learned how to dream with your eyes open wide Your muse was your sickness, and you pleased it with dreams And through these rites you show me the wrong in my reasoning I planted a seed and it grew on faulty mead Now I reason again as I grow a new tree
(March 2)Message on a 2,000's Blanket Baby be good Loving and true And when the wind blows Nothing so bad will blow you Keep a knife in your pocket and a taser in your shoe Eventually you’ll be alright They’ll learn to love and fear you
— With Love, Mama :)
(March 27)Virus of 2020 Sifting through seasons the summers and springs Wring out the weeks and months of cold and chilly breeze. Sneeze and god-bless-you, sneeze and oh-dear, Fear of the cold and the flu coming near. But here is a demon far worse than before Short was its warning and swift was its course. Forced sneezing brings staring, Involuntary fear. Here one goes down, Now the whole town Drowns in disarray. Away with spring and the happy thoughts it brings. Now sing seclusion and suspicious cancellations, Elations of staying home for the day. Disarray leaning forward Toward families and unity Eventually it gets to me and burrows in my heart. Apart from mind it attacks me in the heart. Apart from mind it attacks me in my heart. I start to say “it’s okay, Today I have nothing to fear.” But here is a demon far worse than before. Short was its waring and swift was its course. I force myself to lie awake, Forsaking waking dreams of the summers and springs. Here sings the song of an old god of fear. Here is a paean of the new god of fear.
(August 3)Taxidermy Seal Greatest dancer in the world Seraphim within the sea Speak to me About whatever journey brought you here upon the shore
Dancing in the sea with flowing dress Like water to the touch A glisten in the waves So soft you must have been And so quiet as you moved I wonder how your silken coat would feel between my arms
The hook got all the better As it dragged your from the waves Up across the desert tundras where your family had lain Then they shoved your veins with chemicals And gutted out your chest With gloved fingers they would tear off all they could not save Then they pulled out brains and bones and eyes and stuffed down something else inside And now can cannot dance or glide You stand still and thin and dead
You looked beautiful alive But others thought you might be nice As corpse and decoration prize Far from where you died
But greatest dancer in the world Seraphim within the sea I like you as you were Lovely and unseen
(August 10)Imported Rooibos Red and clear like drinking Nectar from a flower how Intriguing that with every Sip I think I Keep forgetting keep on thinking Red and clear like drinking Sweet nectar from a flower I Keep forgetting keep forgetting all The diesel and the dismal Pain that brought me here to Red and clear like drinking Honey nectar from a flower how Easy to forget that mortal Hands have sewn this drink and Bled their striving blood into my Red and clear like drinking Bleeding nectar from a flower I Can feel myself forgetting during Every little sip the dismal Lives I sacrifice in taking and enjoying Red and clear like drinking Undeserving nectar from a flower keep Forgetting keep forgetting someday All forgotten pain will wash Away and drown in Red and clear like drinking Graveyard nectar from a flower forgotten Graveyards in my cup of people I will never see who work and Work for fools like me to have a sip of Red and clear like drinking Tears and bloody nectar from a flower how My spoil tastes so sweet it Almost makes me cry Red and clear like drinking Nectar from a flower how My spoil tastes so sweet it Almost makes me cry
(August 17)Cockroaches Streets of cement and steaming tar Where hides the greatest fairy folk Whom time even fears to crush While its silver fingers brush their backs They age like time Barely touched While they spew evil in others’ minds They themselves are remarkably kind And resilient and strong and pliable to change What a lovely way to live Without much fear of death and age
(August 24)Death of the Evil Monster Back to the ocean Flow all the waves Drawn by forces So far away Back to my cave Dark and dreary draw I Birthing mother, only safe Hidden from the sky Bleeding, broken Final father I find Bathed in jagged comfort Flow back my weary eyes
(September 7th)Peaceful Slumber With sloping spine A-trudging through the pines With packetfulls of stories a-hanging from my back I wander through the streets A-weaving toward home Where I at last will drop my load Of books and horticultural works And sit and tell my stories Of places where I’ve been
In truth I’ll wake from slumber As grouchy as before With packetfulls of sleeplessness a-hanging from my eyes And I’ll despise the winding streets A-weaving me from home And after hours of hateful scouring At last will toss my load Of boring common banalities At whatever’s passing by
Death and constant sleep Wouldn’t be so peaceful otherwise
(September 14)Hidden Bird There is a hidden bird Who builds up up a nest But looks around And then looks down For no egg has come its way So down down down it takes its nest Crying all the way Many many hate that bird And how it cries all day
(September 21)Chairman of Finality “You are wrong” spoke the chairman in his towering seat “The earth grows upwards as we speak We bury the dead and dead become land The more that we add the more is at hand The more is at hand the more we can mold So the earth rises upward, audacious and bold And challenges the sky to a test of time We know who wins in a fight of this kind So we stay down here and play with the sand And will someday enjoy the last legacy of man. Now we’ve been quite nice in offering this seat. Speak up if you’ll take it,” but I did not speak. “So you insist on ignoring your legacy of land And choose to trust the brute strength in your hand. Like a child we leave you to shape and to mold Your heavenly hopes, audacious and bold, That the sky will admit you when your life loses time See how it treats you and your fellow humankind See if it saves you sinking into our sand You may fly only in mind; the rest is but human.”
(September 28)Rome On ancient statues perch the cats With birds of silver wing They sit upon the ancient world And look, and turn away
(October 5th)Philosophical Answer to the Issue of Random Chance in Computer-Generated Minds To amend the issue of the random chance I would need to speak with Sophocles And spend long hours explaining My plight in hopes he and I might Together learn to sit and think Not so slow but not too fast Sitting and thinking is not my way I find it restless testless lacking class I would need him as a role model to sit And think and do not move Sitting and staring at the middle distance Hours and hours with stiffened muscles listless To tell me the way in which the mind may sway Itself without doubt down a narrow way Sitting listening internally conversing That is not my way To amend the affliction which philosophy presents to me To stare at long last down the gullet of victory I would be Quite dead I see At least I would have the answer
(October 12)Traveler I met a traveler today He was old and cold and tireless I offered him what direction I could But all to him was meaningless “I must discover” he said, “for myself Though it’s been a pleasure knowing you And the care you give” and off he went Farewell, my dear friend. Sadly I could see the path All the way up the wall And as he and his six legs went their way I knew their was no end in that day That would please his powerful sweet heart He crawled up the glassy precipice In search of gold of food There were only spider corpses in wait And decomposing cobweb rooms My tea tasted far less sweet To see the light drop from his eyes And how I wished to call out to him As he again passed me by His head was bent Still studious and tireless I felt ashamed to have failed him in every way I let him walk by, defeated For at the end this traveler had no friend He desires work and adventures and little more Perhaps a scrap of food to feed his queen But she offers no thanks anymore So he does what he does best Explore! And I watch three times He climbs up the wall Determined to find that euphoria of discovery Farewell, my dear friend Silent memory
(October 19)The Ballad of Jonathan MacGrau (a song) Long ago in age old Possatown Jonathan MacGrau rode in one day On a mare with skin as black as pitch Jonathan MacGrau rode in one day They gathered round and called his name Savior save us they did say When with his Bible and his sword Jonathan MacGrau rode in one day He took not from them their wine Jonathan MacGrau had other taste He asked them for their sinners not Jonathan MacGrau had other taste With crucifix aimed at the sky He said “come down from throne on high You demon born, you’ve come to die” Jonathan MacGrau did say that day Possatown was demon ruled Jonathan MacGrau did surely know The monster on raven wings flew Jonathan MacGrau did surely know He lost a bet at Satan’s door Cursed to wander Earth forevermore And every week he came to eat Jonathan MacGrau had come that day Like an arrow across the sky The winged monster fell from high “I wish you no glory with fighting Me my poor lost soul” The demon lay on four snake legs Jonathan MacGrau could clearly see Wrapped in a shroud made for a king Jonathan MacGrau could clearly see A pointed hat upon his head Eyes like nightmares blazing red Wings storied as the bleeding sea Jonathan MacGrau could see that day “Care for a drink my wandrin’ friend?” Jonathan MacGrau would stand his ground “No words you have against my head?” Jonathan MacGrau would stand his ground “Nothing to offer in response? Only here for blood at any cost? Won’t try to save my soul at all?” Jonathan MacGrau said naught that day Like arrows across the skies The preacher and the demon fight “I wish you no glory with fighting Me my poor lost soul” At last there lay the demon dead Jonathan MacGrau was cold that day He pulled the horns out from its head Jonathan MacGrau was cold that day He stood for days before the cross Despite the cheers his heart was frost He wanders still forever lost Jonathan MacGrau is lost today
(October 27th)The Ballad of Janus Tela (a song) In the year of 1800 out in San Monthuella’s dusty heart Janus Tela lived recluse upon his haunted farm He kept no hens or cattle no horses to plow his land His only crop were swine straight from the Devil’s waiting hand
They stood as tall as twenty men and strong as more than twice Their teeth were made of iron and they bled poison on their hides They barreled through Tela’s farm with triple eyes a-blazing red If Tela didn’t feed them they’d drag him to the Devil’s waiting hand
The old man could not slaughter them although he surely tried How he got them no one new he never told his crime Someone said adultery or murder, rape, seizure of land But he could run no farther from the Devil’s waiting hand
Old Janus Tela had a little girl he named Jen Saralin He loved her so and kept her close with desire growing red And yet one day he cried aloud for her blood had lined the land The swine had dragged her far away to the Devil’s waiting hand
After Saralin Tela lost his failing heart He gather stinking swine and told them off his farm The swinelord laughed aloud and told him they would surely stand Unless he wanted justice at the Devil’s waiting hand
Tela lay a-crying for three days and several nights When he was awake he prepared for another fight The swinelord bathed the farm in storms of lighting and of sand But Tela kept his head above the Devil’s waiting hand
After weeks the swine had eaten not a bite for many days Spiting fire from their jaws they sought Tela in fire-ridden craze But in his farmhouse basement there Tela swore he’d stay a man Fighting out early apocalypse at the Devil’s waiting hand
The blazing swine blew down the door and set the place afire They hooves struck through the floorboards and walls melted into mire But they all stopped and stared as through their midst old Tela ran Clad in terrifying armor fit to fight the Devil’s waiting hand
The swinelord laughed uneasy as he backed out of the farm Tela followed swiftly and demanded he depart Honor was the prize that day they fought eachother man to man The loser lost his lifeblood to the Devil’s waiting hand
At long last there stood Tela drenched down to his boots There before him stood the Devil with skin like gnarled roots She said “was quite a pleasure but you fight like honey sand Would show you how to slaughter death if you’d take my waiting hand”
In year of 1800 out in San Montheulla’s dusty heart Old Jen Saralin still warms her father’s waiting hearth She’ll say “he’ll come back once he’s paid for crimes of hand” But no price is on that swinelord when the Devil has her man
(November 2)Eulogy #3 Orange tufts above the ground Falling down Tender children won’t you stay At least delay Calm your hurried withering mind Stiffened limb and spine And take your time within your mother’s care I likewise ran from there And ran and ran through cords across my chest Unknowing how happily and blissfully blessed My lifeblood tree had been to me until it was Falling down
(November 9)Stress Not a digging Just a pushing A pressing on the eyes No nails No jabbing Just slow pressing down Growing heavier and heavier Constant nagging force Monster of the mind Python growing stronger Slow moving in the ear Not a biting Not a hissing Just a pressing on the skin Pressing Pressing Suffocating Cutting of circulation Close and far away
(November 16)Sunset The fiery battle at the end of the world Prettiest war Ever to turn Always another Never an end And poets enjoy slaughter on the silvery bend With pretty white gallions running by And a great bonfire in the center of the sky But the land of the dead cuts off the fight And slowly swallows them up until all is night
(November 23)Poetry Many ghosts amble down the streets of Mind Carrying their many baggages and packs With little minds as complicated as the anatomies of gnats Lacking place to put their sustenance But in the town of Mind There are many streets And not enough ghostly feet To haunt everywhere thence So with pencil and paper net I wander the many streets of Mind Whenever I have endless time To capture drawings of handsome silhouettes
(November 30)Downlooker God is always looking down on us Always looking down As smoky fires lick the sky He is always looking down As little huts grow up and up He is always looking down As battle cries and javelins fly He is always looking down As cities and corn and little farms rise He is always looking down As skyscrapers reach so high Through our eyes he gazes at the sky But God is always looking down on us Always looking down
(December 8)Eulogy #3 Orange tufts above the ground Falling down Tender children won’t you stay At least delay Calm your hurried withering mind Stiffened limb and dropping spine And take your time within your mother’s care I likewise ran from there And ran and ran through cords across my chest Unknowing how happily and blissfully blessed My lifeblood tree had been to me until it was Falling down
(December 14th)Death of Love L is for the way your look elsewhere O is for the only oath I swear V is for violence and violation’s angerments E is everything that I’d do if I had the chance, and
Love is everything I feel for you Love is my weapon of choice on you Love is how my world revolves and how my hatred gets resolved and Even if I never do Love is what I’d do with you
H is for the things I hold for you A is for the way I am, it’s true that T is for trying trying dying just to find the light and E is for everything I’ve kindly smily been denied and
Hate is how you make me feel for you Hate is what makes all my dreams come true Hate is like a guiding star I always find out where you are, and Even if you never knew Hate is what I feel for you
S is for the way you stay somewhere A is for the way you are elsewhere D is for demolition devastation premonitions
C is for the chill I live within O is for the only sin I’ve sinned L is for loving dreams and living nightmare everything and D is for dying for a dream
L is for the way you look at me O is for the only one I see V is for very very underwhelming ordinary E is for emptiness I’ll have to learn to live within and
Love is how I set my mind ablaze Love is how I thought I’d die in vain Love is a fickle thing that know I overestimate and Even if I don’t hold true Love I’ll never never do
(December 21)Undulations Unaccustomed to the undoing touch of King Cliche my favorite one Nods a head to the ancient texts and continues his eye-inspiring way Dukes of Uselessness and Yore attempt their recruiting strategies Useless and fruitless are their unrealized dreams though my favorite enjoying the attention paid He lavishes in the Wood of Ancient Words where the river runs to the Mountain Obscure He attempts little return to the modern world — the time warp suits him best The tongue of his speech is delicate and neat Intonation like harp-chords and rolling like waves Onward he rides spirit in place of heroic sight Never flustered when they forget his meaning, only happy that he is Still alive
(December 28)The Sky There is a realm of wind and sunlight Whose shores with swift quicksand are lined Its soil is barren of every life Those who pass through do in short time When one searches for this country’s native hosts All one finds are empty citadels of ghosts
(January 4)Lovely Design O lovely design whose delicate lines Are stretched by an industry enterprise To fit a rectangular case which was not made to honor nor electrify The majesty with which you were made I think you’re lovely though shambolic you appear All elongated upon the little box Quite a little box in fact, so little and quaint It’s quite easy to see that you might be forgotten sometime And left to the crows and cockroaches in a street While master or mistress or dominion holder Carries on with life and laughing unknowing That such a pretty design was left in the cold How even as I hold you close to my face And examine and trace with my unworried eye All the little ink marks that went into your design I could easily throw you away And live another day — and another — and another -- And another — and another — I could go a whole year Then I’d rummage around and realize you were gone And sit in lamentation for a few seconds about how lovely you were And maybe try to sigh but never in any place upon the world Would I actually cry to loose you — and that makes me sad That I loose such pretty things and so often don’t care It’s such a philosophical thing — but I’m aware I am no PhD philosopher— I have other worries around Soon I’ll place you back on the ground And I’ll look around and find Another infection for my tender little eye And perhaps I will forget you in a street somewhere And someday sit wondering what was that beautiful trinket I lost elsewhere That wasn’t really beautiful — it was marred By the engine that stretched a lovely design To breaking upon an unpleasant flimsy plastic card How I fear your beauty won’t stay in my ever-flowing mind Though you are such a lovely design
(January 11th)The Sun It comes I many forms Of hawk or man or hound Of grandfather or of mother Of dwarf or warrior It rides in boats and carts and chariots And wears glowing amber skin Most bow down to it Out of reverence almost entirely Though for some out of fear It has many genders and interests And many paths and places to be And yet is always marked by serenity Peaceful through the years
(January 18th)Idolized Sunset Within every setting sun there is the somber time When the glowing dying lightbulb dips below the horizon’s lip And is swallowed up by dark — slowly, of course, for elegance is key When devouring the most important being in our solar system’s feast -- And that is always my least favorite part For no sunset was extraordinary All were pretty mildly And then they all die boringly And leave my eyes in the dark To stumble home down shadowy streets Across roads scorched by headlights and sirens and leavess And up stairs that wonder where I could have been To a cold bed that offers little opportunity for sleep And I sleep little because I hate this dark This half-developed ending like a songless lark This ending when so soon the show had once begun How I wasted admiring the fireworks of the sun By expecting more and more and more Why didn’t Helios wish me good night? Or Ra wave from his ship with feathers turning white? Or Hummingbird of the South salute me for my diligence to stare and stop? Why no neigh from the flying horses over Midgard’s top? The sunset is a pain to worship and a playground for disappointment Funny how pretty it is when midday is reinstated And I look out of my window — squinting per the ritual -- And I love the sun then For then it’s everything I’ve ever wanted Too bad I never marvel when it dies
(January 26th)Life Upon the Sea The tomb awaits upon the sea Where waves wash away impurities And cradle corpses in foaming arms And swaddle death in kisses dark The tomb awaits upon the sea Among the gulls and salty breeze Where little children go to play Beneath ancestral stony gaze That is why this island builds tombs upon the sea Cleansing, pleasure, company Watching of their little ones To guard their future daughters and sons The tomb awaits upon the sea To stay engaged in past, present, and future to be
(February 1)Every iPhone Game I was lured in with pretty treats Little prizes powerful and sweet At first I didn’t care to wonder what was waiting for me But then curiosity cut through and I choose to see At first I was pleased with the design The endless opportunities and details and grind I liked the mini stories — they connected to my soul But after the first hour I was spent and cold It was a pretty farce for another’s aim And I had better things to do than play But how pretty! How dazzling! How beautifully made! I cannot bear to throw these memories away Now a ghost upon my iPhone’s screen May you as reminder rest in silent peace
(February 8th)Dark in Creationland In the land of Creation There are two I watch One is the sky fox He is sly and nimble Ever swift on steady feet He leaps and dives With elegant words and witticisms Where he goes hearts beat for him Follow him Want to hold his wisdom close But on the ground is the snake She is difficult to work with Her body is long and covered with scales And each scale reflects story after story She weaves them all together In overlapping, nonsensical patterns She makes a mess wherever she goes Devours more to make more scales And people shy away from her She is old She might crush what is new But in the land of Creation I Try to bring the fox in the sky and the snake on the land Together again I try And fail Often But I still try For when the land meets the starry sky I want to see the sunset
(February 15)Dracula He who walks through violins And ships tempest tossed on forgotten docks And pages and reels of cherished film Amidst the trill of the piccolo and wolf cry long and shrill He whose name has double meaning Firstly, fear Secondly, fanaticism The choicest apple in the orchard Whose fruits are chainsaws and serial killers He who feeds on admiration Of forgotten nightmares and current trends He whose history grows ever distant Likewise ever nearer Though he’ll never show it in his face He whose tongue is tinged with accent And face made pale as ashy plaster He is who I gladly salute He the warrior Legend-maker Ghost whose form persists past death Whose death is impossible as long as The library and silver screen Still stand And offer insight ever freely
(February 22)The Ballad of Henry Kneubald Once across the copper hills And silver mountains of adamantium mines There was a family in the town of good old Tangerine Which had the prettiest girl in the metallic west She wore a dress that sparkled with gears And iron flowers in her hair Which was blonde and long and nicely curled Dorsey Daedeleen was her name Every boy loved Dorsey Daedeleen But of all the ironsmiths and coppersmiths and inventors and fools Dorsey liked of them best Dumas Rundole Who ran the best armory in town And specialized in technohorses and wired bulls He was also the handsomest, but that went without saying Dorsey liked him enough that they were set to get married
But suddenly Within a year of their marriage date In wandered in a smartly dressed gent on a glistening steed Whose pelt — unlike anything they’d ever seen — Was plated gold and ivory Which made him stand out since His coat was black as darkest night His monocle reflected heaven’s light Back down at them across the rivers of his black mustache He rode in majestically and in the middle of the town Bought out the main street saloon that very day And made it a thousand times more profitable His name as it was carried to the Daedeleen house Was Henry Kneubald He came from nowhere Looking to settle down With a beautiful girl in a beautiful house For the rest of his days
Almost immediately Dorsey’s eye turned to him And at the same time went Henry’s eye to her They became better friends than normal friends could And soon Rundole was just another metalsmith And Dorsey and Henry were a common sight around all Tangerine Who walked together White dress beside black suit Smile to monocle Flowers to top hat Set to be married in early June
Early June couldn’t come too soon Weeks dragged on like years until at last The wedding hall was set with mechanical birds And drapery of roses and ironworks And silver doves hung upon the door And robotic ushers offered smiling escort The church was packed from balcony to glass-roofed basement The groom wore his Sunday best Of gold-laced vest and metallic feathers in silver cap And monocle with whirling gears He stood calm and happy as any man could be And Dorsey was just as lovely In a long dress like a golden shroud for a queen With lights and music boxes sewn into the seams And long curling tresses in her hair And a cap of finest saffron lined with little silver rosettes She nearly ran down the isle to Henry’s side Through the ceremony the strongest laser couldn’t separate their eyes
At long last came the time for the “I do’s” All sat on their seats in anticipation for it soon But suddenly the door burst open Followed by gasps and scattered cries It was six men from out of town Shouting “we object, you can’t marry him! He’s wanted in several towns! We’ve been hunting him for several years! We object! We object!” One of pointed a finger at Henry Kneubald “You killed my brother in Hokinhg Shot him in a bank raid You left him in a ditch between Ardiago and San Mothuella I’ve been hunting you for six years!” And his accusing was not alone Each of them raised their voice Each with the name of a dead relative on his lips Sisters Sons Brides Brothers Shot in canyons Strangled Stabbed Threatened ’til they slept with shotguns in their beds Through all of the string of recitated sins Henry Kneubald stood tall and motionless Unphased by the eyes and worried glances even his bride Was casting on him — several times Dorsey pulled at his arm and whispered with fear in her face “Henry, that’s not true, is it?” to which no response he gave At last he heaved in heavy breath and said “All well and well, gentlemen, but you have no proof” But then they pulled the wanted posters from their coats The same face — the same face! — now stared down Dorsey’s groom And Henry’s own face faded from calm to angry to irate Suddenly he pulled a pistol from his coat And blew away a man’s brother from six years ago And still with composure behind his monocle’s glassy face Shot out the chandelier and made it crash down On the middle of the entire crowd And in the confusion and shattering glass and screaming He took one last look at lovely Dorsey Her makeup dripping with tears and her fingers clasping at her mouth Shivering like a frightened mouse Staring at the blood of her hometown And Henry shattered a window And escaped Slipping to his gold-plated horse just as the mob was coming out With guns and laser weapons ablaze He mowed them down with well-aimed bolts Each reflected in his monocle’s eye Kicked up his horse, and disappeared Across the copper hills and silver mountains with their adamantium mines Leaving only a shard of his coat on the windowpane To which Dorsey Daedeleen would clutch to her chest While staring at the orange sunset Tears streaming down her face Crying “Henry! Henry!” to no one anymore
Dumas Rundole led the search himself But even his best horses and best robotic men Couldn’t find where the old criminal had disappeared It mattered not It was better if he died Better if his horse knocked his handsome ribcage into smithereens And the desert beasts ate his body Or, at the very least If he ran And never came back No matter the ending Everyone said he would never bother poor Dorsey again
With two years Dorsey was no more Daedeleen Rundole now graced her storied name And she lived happily with metalworking husband They had left Tangerine, of course Silvertown was much better Much more isolated Much farther from that fated place No one stopped to stare when they heard the name Dorsey Or Henry Here they owned their own mansion And the best metalshop in town And they were happy For Dorsey had nearly forgot all about Tangerine And that man with the monocle And that scrap of his coat Dorsey had forgotten all of it She was living too happily
But suddenly At a time when Dumas was away Scouring resources for their next factory A voice came at Dorsey’s windowpane She heard it And it pull so intensely at her memory She had to open the window
The sight sent her backing away He still wore the same black hat Still had the same body and frame He still wore the same monocle Though his coat was tarnished with soot and ash He stepped through Still tall Still with the same mustache And spoke in his usually soft and gentle way “Don’t be afraid, Dorsey, don’t be afraid It’s me, Henry Remember me? I’ve come back for you, Dorsey — no, don’t run away” He had laid a hand on her shoulder Warm and horribly familiar He pulled her from the wall toward his chest “Dorsey, please,” he said “Come with me Come here, come with me” And the memories were so real So painfully real Dorsey nearly screamed But then the sound echoed from downstairs They both knew it The front door Someone shouting “Dorsey! I’m home! Dorsey?” Dorsey’s heart began to beat And Henry began to frown “Come on, Dorsey,” he said, holding her tight “Come with me” But Dumas called her name Again Again And the once-lovely pearl of Tangerine Shook her blonde curls And a tear ran down her cheek Henry looked upon her for as long as he could Then he backed away Back to the middle of the bedroom But he couldn’t tear his eyes away Halfway between the window and the world of Dorsey At last, just as Dumas turned the knob Henry slipped out the sill and disappeared again Leaving Dorsey to cry upon her curtains at the memories
Ever since that night Dorsey and Dumas have lived in uneasy peace Lest Henry Kneubald might return With his desire for Dorsey strong as the day Their eyes and monocle fell Into the abyss between their histories All the same Sometimes it keeps Dorsey Rundole up at night To think that Henry That man That beast That horrible beast Would sacrifice a life of crime For a little girl’s loving But he would always be denied Passage from one life to another Sometimes the knowledge hunted down and haunted Dorsey late at night Until cold tears welled up in her eyes But Oftentimes She simply chose to forget
(March 1)Lamentation What is the ease To forget a dream Like a summer breeze Before a hurricane What is the way Before the break of day Like a grey birthday Is broken
(March 8)Pretty Little Necklace Oh pretty little necklace Gifted to a little girl Forgotten in a little drawer Pretty little necklace Collecting dust and harmless mold Friends with many other forgotten gifts Old bracelets Figurines Little dancing ballerina boxes Supposed to hold jewelry But tom girls have no reasons To keep in mind pretty things Or care about gifts from relatives She sees but once or twice a year Pretty little necklace Gifted to a little girl Now a big girl Looking through old photo albums Dipping through old drawers Trying to find those things from years ago What was she all those years ago Pretty little necklace Needing dusting off Needing washing in the sink Needing polish for the shine Lifted up to the light Pretty little necklace Hung at last around a neck A little small for a grown woman But Then again Fit just right For a pretty little necklace Finally worn Beneath a smile Just as pretty Lovely And bright
Once there were a terrible people With a terrible society behind their backs With terrible thoughts behind terrible eyes And terribly fickle words as guiding lights They had a terrible idea That they followed terribly well And built a million terrible beasts With flesh of steel Hearts of iron Blood of cold electricity Eyes that glowed red Before a brain steeped the iciest mist of hell That wielded reflexes as swift as human fear And programming as stringent as a cement skeleton Each beast were made to kill Without emotion Without thinking Without enjoying Just kill And kill Kill And Gorra was one of these beasts But strangely He had suddenly Become Aware Of that history that had never bothering him before What of “without” anymore? What when “with” became his own way? With emotion With thinking With enjoying But enjoying what? How? Who? The questions circulated icy brain Breaking up frozen flames Awakening demons in rivers of cold electricity Each of which fought each other With reflexes as swift as Gorra’s growing fear Each strike of their terrible whips against their steely skins Made his fear grow worse And worse Worse Until he was paralyzed on his hand-crafted war-path Alone in icy hell Thinking Painfully About what killing means