Washer woman's words

where be mer
bottle of bluing

ye know, da one
tat's used to treek
yer eye in seeing
yellard stained
linens as pristine
fresh snow white

for tat bottle
with its little
ground mineral
will brighten dis
sullied soul tat's
been dragged down
to da gutter view

for tat bottle
wit its powdered
azure dust will
turn dis ragged
tone to petals
tossed in angelic
flight e'er white

treeky viewing
a hue from bluing

trading brittle
torn pages past
lessons from da
looking glass,
for glamorous tale
behind pale veil

trading veins
unfolding paths
once traveled,
for salty flats
wit aimless reaches
and barren fonts

eyes surmise
what's seen aherd,
dat's all dat's said
so a bit of
bluing for deir
viewing and need
not know true
yellar deir pristine
white as snow

January 25th

raw space, raw emotions
jagged words and devotions

shutter once, shaken thrice
bumping into you was the spice

you apologized for it too
when my body joined you

"anytime", I softly said
going right over your head

giving me another chance
you spoke volumes in your glance

sight to that night we missed
to that night we never kissed

Spinal palm

Painted lady

unsaid the impulse
hiding behind wine
blushed cheeks and
ruby stained lips

pale canvas where
these features lock
away the longing
haunting the shell

inflamed hell of
satin flaring liquid
that physician's let
in long ago days

liquid that warms
bisque flesh held
fixed in throngs
of those below

bellow they may
and coo and bow
to know her favor
may be found

around the corner
is her mind where
lovers' hands glide
over breast and groin

loin massed with
lace etched wings
hover her heart in
doting fools' company

wild hooves race
within her bosom
for she has found
desires run free

there the rushing
wants take flight
for heart desires
lack any ankle irons

yet she be her
own prison keep
with rusty keys held
beyond love's reach

and satin layers
wall within stark
screams rattling
a pale fair cage

I'm gonna get the mail

holding air when
wind encircles hooded
face in blinding embrace

bare footprints in
the snow shuffle over
road that knew of black

and black is still
a metal box on post
rendering afternoon post

box mouth yawns
and upchucks three
slips of tree upchucks

scuttle back to
door ajar in white
head to flow aground

behind a door
with post in hand
wrinkled raised brow

Villusions

awakened from a
slumber realized
from sedations
body numb in
rising, lacking
simple sensations

eyes are dripping
with rancid
hallucinations

subconscious has
vomited all
its floral creations
budding and
heady blooming
of  elusive gestations

irises unfold in
a field of fetid
hallucinations

of genie smoke
granting wishful
blissful elations
in foreign lands
beyond known
tongues and relations

pupils seeking
truths behind rank
hallucinations

yet lamp light
grows dim in the
shadow of negations
where reasoning
and rules meet
manic abrogations

lenses are blurred
from seamy
hallucinations

ships still set
sail in oceans of
dire temptations
in which teeth
and tentacles
execute predations

so grateful these
be only foul
hallucinations

More beauty unclear

more beauty
near explosions
yielding glass
in the sands

sands as white,
the tattered
lattices falling
from frozen heights

heights to which
rise the release
of ignorance
with excess power

power in pockets
and burning fear
and shovelfuls
of unclear stones

unclear, stones
that were whittled
by time's and wind's
instant feats

feats for death,
for surrender of
chaos and breath
held those minutes

minutes blooming
in the lack of rain
near unclear waste
and more beauty

Breakfast

buttered burden
on burnt toast
in stale chilled air

sipped the day
not yet met by
glimpse of sun

hidden in the steam
rising off the cup's
dark surface

waited for the
push of the liquid
and its inoculates

expelled a smoke
that filled my lungs
and seared my body

hidden in the face
of listless and
bloodshot eyes

scanned black
and white and
lines and letters

waited for time
to catch up with
plans not made

hidden in the feet
dwindling with
every passing tick

And bleh!

can't say
cannot really
drooping lids
weighted lashes
draw the
optical sashes

close sign hung
on lips taxed
from conjured
chit chat

spat and spit
those letters
linked to this
or that thought

full or was
when stomach
growled in its
emptiness

was present
in grasping for
answers in a
chamber some
place up high

and low for
the chatter was
too slow but
the objections
were too fast

last call for
chipping into
the slop bucket

won't feed any
piggy bank here

The dust people

they had been sitting
at the front door too long

whittled their fingers to the bone
in front of chunks of earth
matted with roots that once
grew beneath their feet

and now who knows where
house and clothes end
and ground and skin start

consumed the soil they have
and traded it for a thing
finer than any sand that has
measured any amount of time

all that measures their time
spent inhaling their home
are memories quickly savored
in the brief moments the
wind decides to catch its...

breath is as elusive as
the rains leaving a people
to bathe themselves only
in their sweat and tears

upon year after years
the fence posts bitterly
disappear by the hands
of gritty air and locust teeth

and houses and barns
are taken by large metal
blades backed by suits
and numerical hearts

that scatter a people to
makeshift mobile lives and
canvas tents where Zion and
the promised land drip off of
saturated evangelical tongues

yet the promised land was
theirs underneath their fingernails
and deep within their lungs

it piled up at their front doors
as the wind tried to bury the past

Meshroom in a bottle

"Sip in times of
doubt for full elation
from the bare vessel
of first creation"

...scribbles on
pasted paper, the labels
that enwrap us all

heretic, virgin,
lost, drunk... preacher

ink from scribbles
runs in the aging
rains and twisting times

malformed details
pool together in
the belly of the bottle

meandering down
transparent cheeks

into a pool where
descriptive edges
are abandoned

where the whirling
details are found
to be lost in

...did they ever
really matter to us

yet glue is still
slathered on bare
vessels of first creation

and thin decorated
advertisements are
still slapped upside them

thus join in this,
a raised glass of
sterile stagnant thought

poured from this not so
bare vessel of first creation

And thirteen bowed

carniver - us
the cadaver dipped
in batter, fried in
an oily lather for
folks at the carnival

sublime slime oozing
from grins reveling
in the levels layered
throughout, exuding time

screaming clowns -
years neared and veered
to and from the hazy
maze that is the brain

wincing strong men -
moments in show tents
when strength eddied
down porcelain toilets

cackling ladies with beards -
hours of nosegays in
flowers, soaps and hopes
for friends beyond ends

studious jugglers -
minutes of print us,
them or him placing
pen to paper, shaper of words

the birds and cards and
wands and rabbits, habits
of magic sliding out of cuff
and collar to a tedious scholar...

ravenous fire eaters -
flashing seconds, beckons
the two flames floating in
a night beyond twilight

to thirteen cars along the rails
was added one, empty to tempt
thee to know, but for the show,
what's certain is behind the curtain