Sunday, March 26, 2017

Void

only to pick at
the vacancy of space
the lingering void
that claims part of me
only to examine
to put under scalpel
something lacking
a missing piece
that might have
the answer for it all
and if I only had
whatever it is 
that appears missing
that void we all
yearn to fill
so we are then full
complete and with
not being without
yet being is here and now
exactly how I am
with the without
the missing piece isn't
because it never was
not answering it all 
as there is no question
there's no void 
for there is nothing
and there never needs to be
anything more 




Friday, March 24, 2017

Lying wine

the lies have been trampled on
those swollen, juicy deceptions
you've squished under your dance
your filthy feet that have carried
you through the dry dusty fields
pound all the liquid from your lies
and into the wooden tub you collect
the nauseating nectar pouring out
under the weight of your strutting
and those luscious lies sit awhile
all those words from your tongue
drool into the pool under your feet
and sit and bubble and ferment
how you make what you've said
taste ever sweeter as time lapses
how intoxicating the devious drink
how sweet the motion of your lips
the recitation of your insincere script
fills my glass time and time again
to meet the laughter of disbelief
the giggles to hide wounded tears
and to douse any hostile fires
this wine of lies you shower me with
for as long as you keep me full
under the guise of fermented lies
you think I'll forever of this drink
and be tied to your fruit of the vine
never realizing that one lurid eve
I've slit your vine and spilled your wine




March eves

would I get lost 
in all the wanted ways
the envious grays
of languished March eves
they teeter on that ledge
where all has been called
every guest has received
their perfect paper invitation
and yet all waits
the weather hesitates
to step through the door
into the biding hall
the budding banquet sits
for the floral feast to commence
a nether world of dreams swirls
in the anticipation of the wake
the wax continues to drip
the nectar longing for a sip
amidst the dreary pollution
of languished March eves




Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Risen


daring to raise their heads
as a masked rabbit may hold a blade to their necks
those below rise again
from their solemn soiled dwellings during winter's spell
a humble rise from a low curtsy
to raise their faces and praise the gold that has called them forth
these children are reflections
the great and tiny and many mimickers of their solar lord
earth only holds their feet
or else they would take flight as soon their children will
off into the robin egg sphere
with the silky spider spindles that weave the cotton of clouds
into the crystal showers
that don the necks of those that have risen again



Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Vial trial

 have you found my vein
on which to quench your thirst
deliver your fumes
and I'll be your dizzy tazzle
dancing to your rhythm
beating in my brain

I can't remember the words
to banish you
my mouth's too dry
to speak them
so I'll swallow you again
and be your dizzy tazzle
staring at the wall

your tears have taken me
into the wilds beyond
and I have sank off the coast
where I left my skin
and I sink even more
as you force your way in
make me your dizzy tazzle
and all of mine is yours

your cough is my breath
your tears my blood
and if you sliced me open
I'd pool your reflection
whisper that I'm your dizzy tazzle
'cause my ears are closing their doors
and the light is growing dim




Monday, March 20, 2017

Vile viral

a simple breath
the invitation sent
and received
for I to play host
to a gaggle of goblins
and ghouls that drool
in my skull
and run amok behind
my eyes
the heat of their bonfires
burns in my brain
and their soiled levity
drains down my throat
to puddle and sour
my breath
and gives rise to phantoms
who howl through the night
to steal rest and sleep
from my wretched soul
the ghastly gang
spits their poison
with every hacking cough
with every sudden sneeze
to send out more invites
hooks for hosts




Monday, March 6, 2017

The wash

plunged into the scalding water
his hands knew not the heat
they were weathered leather
that tossed me about
agitating my fibers
in the suds adulterated 
with the soil and soot of my being
from those depths 
I was flung into the air
to smash against a rock
again and again and then
plunged into the clear rinse
the cold water of the earth
soaking my soul with its wet
his fingers the hooks to pull
at my flesh
and thresh the perfumed soap
out of me
to repeat the toss in the air
and plummet against stone
and the twisting clench
the wringing of my body 
to pour my condition 
out onto the thirsty grass
and thrown onto the sisal
where wooden teeth sink 
into my worn, aching skin
and I dripped into the wind...

will you cut me down 
when I hang to dry



Thursday, March 2, 2017

Snow lights

orange of street lamps fades
among the dark tree-laden fissures
within the brightening gray sky above
hovering over the park below
Mesmer's envy is felt
in the show of floating flakes
within the last minutes of
the street lamp glory
no greater hypnotist exists
than these clippings of
the frozen clouds
in their journey in the breeze
and their pause in stillness
but journeys carry on
shaken awake by worn roads
in the waning winter morning