Knock knock

they long to speak
in fact that's all they do
or rather scream
into hollow ears
that miss the train
to wherever they
plan on taking you
there's times when
for random spontaneity
a whisper is heard
a word resounds
in the audible cavern
a vibration on the skin
was it just the wind
they catch you there
in a sudden second
a moment removed
from the rest of your life
to shake your soul
to feel their cold
to crack open your shell
to know their hell
and for that moment
that word is greater
than anything you realized
could have ever been
and you remember
that outside your door
there's so much more

Windbag

the clawing tree
snagged the man-made cloud
in one of its lofty snares
as it sits on the sunny
southern slope of the hill
its shadows are its roots
black lines tracing through
the greening blades of grass
they are slithering serpents
under the wind's reigns
the inorganic rustling
of the man-made cloud
mimics the absent leaves
the tree knew before winter
those leaves that blew
and floated and fell
tossed and torn and dined
upon by the warming soil
and unseen meandering roots
those leaves the litter
of the thoughtless trees
that catch the litter of these

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 

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

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

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

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

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

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