Paper Thin Men

gathering all unto themselves
of rare and worthless pricey things
that shine, that glare and gleam
the gems, necklaces and rings

a cache unto themselves
for ends unbeknownst en masse
yet secrets slither under doors
igniting into bonfires at last

all of this unto themselves
the hoggish hoard kept within
behind illusion's own grandeur
and a fleet of paper thin men

what words held unto themselves
blatant deceptions from the crown
while they march their armies on
and on straight into the ground

all the fuss unto themselves
for pompous pride and regard
to conjure past those days of old
and bend thy knee to "Me Lard"

all of us unto themselves
behind the flag, apple pie and amen
a great dream, yet only dreamt
'tis the way of the paper thin men

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

Dark centered sons

those late days of June

dry faces spackled with heat
creaking the whistling
whirling beat down fins
pumps the wet to the cracks
in the shade of this shape
rampant through the sifting
sand that ebbs and flows
across the silver sea of sage

those top heavy sons
in pride and boasting youth
sons of the southern wind
ablaze in those simmer days
they peer through verde collars
and tempt their calling beaus
in dapper velvet fashion
sweet sips their song
deep within their furry chest

those dark centered sons
sticky in sappy sweat
as tiny feet tickle their limbs
sweet sustenance this sweet
this green sun laden flesh
they writhe in the tempests
they batter and trash in their
saturated orgies with the sky
and burn in August drought

The list is lost

the list is lost
of all hoping for naught
all dreadful tears
all nightmare brand fears
of all hours waking
moments spent faking
all lustful ambitions
release of inhibitions

the reaper has gone
all fields lay long
no more seed to sow
no more roots will grow
all winds hush their words
songs cease in the birds
the earth stops the turn
both to freeze and to burn

the sky shuts its eyes
blind to the other skies
all of them peering in the dark
all of them bright and stark
some of them still aglow
most of them burnt out long ago
in the deep they glisten
their light merely fiction

this space stained with stones
a listless floating bed of bones
when all is returned
all bridges are burned
all recedes into itself
back to the nucleus of the cell
into the chaos and unknown
where the tiny seed was sown

Beyond the crevice

crevice, cracked stone
the earth pulling up its
skirt to lure wanderers
into its unknown depths

shadow hugs tightly
the rocky innards of
hollowed chamber, of
time-eaten space

room meager and low
unless fungus would
shrink a body to vermin
size, a then be castle

in that smaller stature
one would have the key
to the tiny door hidden
at the back of the space

a darker shadow awaits
just beyond that hatch
pouring further into stone
into the lost and suppressed

slithers the craggy tunnel
where serpentine jolts had
hewn their cryptic trails
during primeval wanderings

they, the squids of soil
with their timeless striking
tentacle reach, have left
this path, this beaten course

which turns to take to
trick what's lost, what's
left in the deep, dank,
dismal dark abode of these

and heat and cold swirl
into each passage, after
every twist the path lays
in front of searching souls

and toes are eager to recede
for relation of a corpse state
sinks in suddenly, yet pursuit
whips the feet further on

darkness lightens to green
phosphorescent glow, a dream
tucked within a nightmare or
what else dwells in this hell

moist minerals merge with
stark life of fungi fire light
an eerie calm in the heart
of suspense and silent secrets

relief, be it brief, in glowing
walls, 'til dismal light exposes
movement just out of sight
beyond the reach of green

further down another way
past clusters of the fungus
reflections blink not once,
nor twice, but many are they

pulse echoes in the ears
in the muffled corridors of
forgotten silence, breath
halts, clutching the instant

movement shatters the ease
of the minute light, surge of
despair strikes in the rush of
shrieks and blinking reflections

Wildfire

what you've burned
and surrendered to the
flames licking the night

soot for shadows left
on dusty roads, the grid
laid over a barren land

the earth only bearing
those who can bear most
anything or anyone or...

what you've burned
in the hordes that march
across the grass and stone

smoke for held breaths
in deflated dreams, rising
to contaminate the infinite dark

a taciturn sky blankly
gazing on tattered fires of
the past or present or...

what you've burned
with words and looks
with dormant action

allowing it to feed
on what's left, those
remnants of the cold

bones and flesh bleached
by the sun and time to
feed the old or new or...

Body

that piece of paper
I've scribbled on
I've folded
I've creased
I've erased

that paper is wrinkled
that paper is torn
it is stained with skin
oil and coffee drops
and the ink has bled
and pooled and dried

that piece of paper
I've used up
I've lost
I've rediscovered
I've endured

the paper is aged
the paper is yellowed
it is stained with sins
and waking nightmares
and the words have smudged
and darkened and faded