In windows

a man of glass
stained and jagged and smooth
you see through his colors
as many and brilliant they are
that glimmer through the day
and glow in the night
each segment of his light and hue
the man knows
and he paces the floor each day
from one wall to the opposite
very carefully and in thought
to return and do it over again
starting at the same place
the next morning
he's ethereal in falling
and sharp and focused in standing
and so very allergic
to baseballs and stones

Pieces

she is a puzzle
each piece needing the others
but earthquakes overlook
that one simple fact
and start to shake her apart
the wind scoffs
and flicks a piece away
here and there
to the amusement of itself
the pieces are so random
that she is left
not knowing if her legs
will hold her up
if her lungs
will fill with air
if her head
will stay on her shoulders
or if her heart
will beat a steady drum
she just waits
near the window glass
watching the pieces fly by
while she pieces together
a puzzle of her own

The couple at February's end

he holds his tricks
tucked up his white sleeves
those varied heady silken hues
he pulls forth when no one looks
and passes them to her
she who glows in the sun
waiting for glass to trickle
and flow away into the unseen
where her children play
and suckle from her breast
and wriggle from her bosom
to be plucked up by his own
to find themselves swimming
at the end of a string in bitter waters
while his own wait for a bite

their marriage is made in time
and is spoken over bottles of wine
by those who spied his tricks
and have witnessed her unseen
and speak of it as though they're old friends
who live just down the road
in the house no one visits anymore

Deserted dreams

desert falls behind his eyelids
a blessing from dream givers
something to soothe his soul
from his oceanic travelling

the ocean he sailed was forever
even when he fell overboard
and drifted towards the bottom
there was always another drop

the waves were shaken
not stirred in his realm
he would drown by night
and wash up on some stranger's shore

he needn't some star above his seas
to guide him to the strangers' shores
he was skilled and very well versed
to give into the draw to knock at those doors

it was in those blurry waters
that he never heard a no
it was only in the damn desert
that he learnt of limits

to find the desert behind his eyelids
that out of all he found to rely on
the leftovers of the dream givers
who apparently had holes in their sacks

Fall

the longer the fall
the more boredom sets in
that initial horror
when it's realized
the fall is taking place
or even the precursor of dread
of even entertaining the idea
that the fall might even occur
that all becomes melting butter
the longer the fall takes place
most falls are momentary
a ripping off of the band-aid
and BOOM!
destination is realized
be it the sidewalk pavement
a parking lot below
the 6th floor window
ground floor inside
an elevator shaft
the water's surface
waiting for the diver
whatever it may be
most are soon and quick
yet there are those stealthy ones
that have someone in their grasp
without them even knowing it
so there's not even the initial shock
or maybe there was
it was just ignored
and BOOM!
one is plummeting and detached from
the entire thing
and with that previously mentioned boredom
more of what caused the fall
is sought and bought at whatever price
because dammit
nobody wants to be bored
when they're falling

Nicks in echoes

crown me! crown me!

demands when he played

both colors of the checkerboard

unfair! unfair!

cries when he got his way

but it wasn't served on a silver platter

begone! begone!

barks when he thinks he can

but realizes there's more to it than that

mean! mean!

bawls when he looks in the mirror

daily and sees what's really looking back

it's fun! it's fun!

lies when he's not going to admit

his treading is quickly turning into sinking

I heard! I heard!

excuses when he speaks

but nothing of value is said

they'll do! they'll do!

dispenses when he has to pay

all the pipers who play him like a drum

fake! fake!

screams when the truth

is a pill he doesn't keep in his cabinet

Gristle

the gristle of dreams
when a thought is chewed
and chewed
but won't be swallowed
won't tumble down the nocturnal throat
a sleeper slumbers through
that gristle is a minute chasm of hell
the skipping record
the haunting that won't let go
but will again and again
restate its claim
on your presence
in the nonsensical world
you fell into
when you fell asleep

Wordless

so much said
in the lack of words
the vacant image
the great abysmal void
the nod
the wink
what's understood
but not voiced
this silent procession
led by a mute conductor
into an empty page
into uncommon bliss
when there's no need
no sense of must
to air a rant
mumble misgivings
sing a praise
or chitty chatter chat
the time has past
for all of that
'tis time to pause
and hush and hear
what is said
without words

The shadow

no one longs to be lost in a mystery
and yet we've all jumped
face first into its biggest pool
without even testing the water first
or maybe we have
in those vague memories
that are more inclinations than visions
more feeling than our present state of mind
yet once removed
just enough to not validate
and keep us in the shadow we've ran to
perhaps the light of knowing was too bright
too bright for our curious eyes
with saucer-sized pupils that peer
into the darkness
waiting for something
some click in the cogs of this clock
whose minutes we are running out
in this idleness
in waiting for something
some spark to ignite the dark
and burn away all of the alternative facts
who some choose to suckle from
while others turn away from in horror
those who have looked deep
into the shadow we have ran to
and know its infinite glory

Marie

aloft in your hierarchy
and sprawling palaces
how could you have heard their plea
tell me how you could sweet Marie
of the throngs, too many voices to hear
too many preoccupations of time
how could you have heard their plea
tell me how you could sweet Marie
those luxurious diversions spent
only to spend more for more and yet
I implore, how could you hear their plea
how could you listen our sweet Marie
the decadence always too tempting
and wooers of your timely presence
how could you lend your ears to their plea
tell us this, would you sweet Marie
as you found the gowns and jewels aplenty
and the towering cakes so many
as sweet as you tasted your life
so too the blade licked your neck
how could you have heard their plea
tell me how you could sweet Marie
for as detached from your fellow man
so rolled your head from your neck
you couldn't lend your hand nor ears for their plea
but your head suited them well our sweet Marie