Tuesday, September 20, 2016


heart defective lips
the scalpel blade to slice
indifferent of blood
adulterating the life
left scarred and maimed

what's said is sowed
into the soil of the soul
and will expand
pouring in behind
eyes that have no voice

now all sealed shut
the window within window
rattling in the wind
giving in eventually
to the unrelenting pain

shock soon follows
as words shatter in the cold
and left is the shell
leaving it behind
to reach for the divine

The written world

Monday, September 19, 2016


twas a bird of a different call
some voice unheard of
off behind or between an
unseen building perch

its song a toss of
colored scarves exploding
from some firework wand
to vibrantly, boisterously say,
"Hey baby, over here"

at least in the rapturing
written bird words floating
in the early morning air
that is to say, and was

to some distant feathery
ear waiting in a similar
behind or between unseen
building perch across a
sea of pavement and tar


never was I here
never shall be
longing for a breath
a voice, a call, a turn
of head to stop and see
never was a stone
to stay and state
here was I
to verify, here I be
least what's left of me
they've all closed
their eyes and drifted
off into mirky skies
and do not see me here
for no one lingers still
to say they knew me
to remember my steps
in my path in my way
no one left to say
I was here

Tuesday, September 13, 2016


procession of feet
marching fury set aflame
by boiling fear
the ignorant hysteria
dressed in hateful sneer

once friends or
at least fellow citizens
now cry for blood
for melting flesh
for death and all the rest

blank the stare
now my soul has left
a shell only rides
to that spot
where thirsty roots
sip convicted blood

my flesh numb
within leaving daylight
only memories
cry to me
sewing by the hearth
smell of wet earth

I cannot hear
will not even listen
to their cries
I leave them in silence
to their lust for violence

I am elsewhere
inside the heart of you
you took me
under the waxing moon
under ancient fateful stars

I am your altar
on which to reach beyond
this current madness
the sacrifice
I gladly give to you
when my time is through

For I know more
than they will ever want
for you showed me
from the sky
all of what's below
the soon and now and long ago

they bound me now
with ropes to soon burn away
and free I shall be
to join you
from this I shall awake
and leave behind what's at stake

Saturday, September 10, 2016

Here's why

T. Profile a despicable cad
never much cared for him
disproportionately tipsy
scowling brow and smug grin

then E. Belly plays victim
riving in hunger then pain
having a knife in his back
from the villainous P. Brain

Miss Wrist and Madame Hip
creak and groan in the cold
whereas N. Lips are too shy
aged P. U. Feet are too bold

nobody seems to recognize
what O. Heart really wants
abandoning dreams and
hopes and long senseless hunts

the group of adolescent
fingers only annoy S. Cranium
and U. R. Glutes are to all as
radioactive as uranium

so it is posed why in
the world so much hate and fear
the reason is within the self
the root of war feeds here

Friday, September 9, 2016


only until that day I never knew
the little glory you really held
for you always shone bright
in front of me, in front of all
that was always your way 
to catch the view of every eye
to glimmer for every passerby
who might pay you some care
but for me that time has passed
and I will neither stop nor stare
your yellow song haunts me none
and I no longer see you as the sun
those joys have now withered from view
since the day you turned away

Monday, August 29, 2016


walking back across
the frozen tar
a river Styx in
its own right
light blinded me
but I heard a
familiar sound
calling from the south

I could hear the
song of pistons
struggle with their
task at hand
I could hear my
own bones being
fed to those metal
teeth and gnashed
and torn to bits
I could hear the
slicing of my
body the cutting
of my arms the
breaking of my bread

that song sung
me back to my
vehicle in where
I reclined and
pondered the many
patterns of the
waves of water
above me in the sky

Sunday, August 28, 2016


the boogieman still
locks the nations up at night
the something underneath
the bed, the sudden noise
in the dark, the could be
might be, dreadful possibility
wears the key to the irons
that shackle us to dominion

of course they know each other
well, kin once removed but
then rejoined at the hips
to grow and loom in
the shadow of the moon
and as the thief in the night
to tear away a facade
a mere paper thin layer
to make the wolf a sheep
and a want a necessity
betting their illusion would
convince us all to
bow down, hand over,
and do their bidding

let the bet ride though
makeup eventually wears off
and people may tire
of a hand up their backside
power is only possible if
it is given and wealth only
exists because it's considered so

Friday, August 26, 2016

The driving of oneself

someone else drove me
home the other day
I wasn't there for
the depressing of the
brake in front of red lights
nor for the acceleration
for the greens and even
I think the yellows
I was too preoccupied
by a too talkative grip
describing an ice pick
or perhaps even an ax
merely a suggestion of
such an instrument driven
into the left side of my skull
at a 45 degree angle
slicing into the back of my eye

someone else drove me
down the streets to home
while I waited with my
hand clutching the lips
of that over talkative grip
with its stabbing whispers
my hair was combed by
the traffic breeze as my
absent head rested on palm
to wrist to elbow through
the windows when that grip
would find itself speechless