Pen pathogen

I may be writing this anywhere
from the next seat on the plane
the crowded theater's back row
the middle of the mall's food court

wouldn't matter the locale
the second pew over at church
the penny slots at the casino
any little place will do nicely

and the more I write the better
you could say for the circulation
as the heart drums its little beat
to pump those juices through

the shining ink slithers out
a river of blood on faded flesh
the ink of ages with its fateful kiss
to adulterate fear with the eventual

yet people seem more frightened
from the sounding sneezing achoo
little did they know it's more subtle
in the whispering scratches of a pen

oh but why, but why is the cry
why anyone would write this end
the destruction of all those lives
for the silence of all those cries

for the muzzling of machines
the snuffing out of intrusive lights
the break down of booming bombs
the relinquish of anger and of hate

also what better venue than this
than the written word of mankind
dictating and torturing through time
and now the obol for the lips

let this be our suicide note
as we've written it again and again
while this pen bleeds for us
it exhales our demising pathogen

Silencing

silencing, the
slow dance passing
in and out of
waking dawn and
dying eve

silencing, when
colors full in bloom
wilt and fade
into ages yellowed
and grey

silencing, once
booming expressive
voices screech to
halting speechless
pondering sighs

silencing, this
choking floundering
stumble from
moment to memory
to pause

silencing, in
cementing fluidity
of April rains
for still December
glaring glass

silencing, when
all those silly garbs
are shed and
left in windy fields
and winding lanes...

the unseen remains

Of sun and moon

the sun is a cad

licking anyone he can

and releases in

earthly combustion

gotta light, he does

making it burn so good

the sun is a bore

so the world ripped

her face off

and drowned in

the dark ocean waves

blanket of currents

gently rocked her sleep

in the lullaby of ages

in whispers so cold

in words of nothing

as the boy dreams

of bloody revelry

on the nightly whims

in fear and delight

so smooth the moon

beams caress and kiss

Sanota's children

great mother mystery
your children are blind
they have no memory
of their days in the sun

great mother mystery
you've eaten their eyes
they play in the darkness
until their living is done

we whisper Sanota
your lovely name on our lips
it escapes those who think
they know you better, yet

great mother mystery
your children are deaf
they lack the listening
to hear behind the truth

great mother mystery
you've tasted their ears
they've been fed everything
and are too full for proof

we invoke Sanota
your sweet name on our tongues
it escapes the logical not
fathoming chances, yet

great mother mystery
your children are mute
they choose to choke on
their words and their spit

great mother mystery
you've sewed up their mouths
they serve in their silence
in sties of ignorance and shit