In the dark

I linger still with

what scared me in the dark

in night I ventured out

following what bellowed

within my bowels

the flutter inside dragging

me out among

the standing ancient woods

I couldn't bear to take

any more steps as each noise

was a paralyzing voice

yet nothing stopped

what yearned from deep within

further my feet followed

until the sounds surrendered

to the remaining intense quiet

the air stagnant and standing

still within the elder timbers

that moment held eternity

as I savored the fear in my heart

what had brought me there

I knew stood behind me

its presence cold and near

my neck exposed to its breath

the drumming pounded

from my chest resounding

through the silent air

in a swift moment more

I was taken into the colds' embrace

and falling faint

dared to peer upon its face

when the night is darkest

and all sounds seem to pause

I am found lingering

with what scared me in the dark

Woodlawn

shadows looming over the land

from a towering arborous hand

this, the dark

darting in and out

of the light

beckons beyond

the iron gate

and paths call out

flowing over

the curves of the plots

as if the souls

lay not in earthen grave

but in some very patient

or very obstinate

watery wave

and the monuments

to life continuum

are not the rooted

solid posterity

but simple stones

death has thrown

to skip through

the cemetery

Brick words

toss them without a care

careless one would need

to be to throw them

through the air

perhaps a random target

or focused on the aim

but the hurl and fall

are all the same

their weighty dispositions
hold emotions of their source

and carry it along

with their lethal force

they crash through windows

they smash in flesh and bone

they're needless, hopeless

yet always being flown

and fly in flock abundance 

this storm of ravenous birds

when all one can speak

and only toss out brick words

Sigh

after being

hung out

to dry,

to bleed out

and leave a

weathered

leather remnant

behind,

a revelry

boredom must

have in a sigh,

its scythe

of choice

to sever

interest in

whatever

may be passing

before

some one's

very eyes

and join

in mundane

monotonous

mud

To whom it may concern

his brains fall out

every time he opens

his mouth

as though someone

is carving a pumpkin

orange and slimy

and whatever

volleys around

in his cavernous skull

slides down his tongue

and out onto

the floor

his assisting buffoons

are eager to hurl

the fecal piles

that accumulate at his feet

as they all seem to want

to make this

a very shitty place

Whisper

faintly danced the sound in air

a slight vibration to break

the silent room

a mere draft, or was it

more than merely a

shrugged off answer

of that unknown

but came again the brush

of sound through the air

a stronger breath 

voiced louder now to

know the unknown

that much clearer

in its mystery

as it trickled past

the right ear and down

the shoulder

a turn to find

the wall of books in

all their calming binds

yet the whispering

words arose from

these tomes

to raise a rise and

pull a lure hither there

that faintly danced in the air

at first and then a mighty wind

the rush of words

the creaking bind

the reach into unholy divine

and through the pages

drawn into, then silence fell

the book as well

in the vacant room

Reservoir

silvery faces gaze

into the sun

and reflect the nightly eyes

that watched the

earthly life of long ago

a life now lurking

in watery depths

only the mud speaks

of those days

in the dry wind

and grass

the neighing of horses

that bellowed over miles

the smell of exposed wet earth

in the Spring

waiting for seed

now rests in murky cold

and layers of rot and silt

what bleeds into

the local water supply

from these silvery faces

the bitterness of the past

quenches the present thirst

Waiting room

laughing at the TV

when its staring back at you

looking for the next thing

that's suddenly so new

tinkering with words

on a blank white sheet

running off to somewhere

in your airplane feet

they're all just distractions

in this waiting room

no need to get so tangled

you won't escape the loom

we're all just getting weaved

with a multi-colored thread

until the timer's ticking's done

and you're leaving here instead

quenching your thirst

in endless cobalt seas

dreaming your heart dry

while begging on your knees

washing all your laundry

the shirts, towels and covers

getting down and dirty

with lover after lovers

they're all just distractions

in this waiting room

no need to bob from the weft

you won't won't escape the loom

we're all just getting weaved

with a fucked up thread

until the hour glass is shattered

and the earth is now your bed

watching the clock

it's waving back at you

with middle fingers raised

in this waiting room

Dressings

she wrapped herself

in complaints

and walked down
cracked pavements

in hope she

would stumble

he cloaked himself

with stuff

yet wandered out

in flea markets

to bring manifested

pennies back

to his garbage barge

they showered themselves

with compliments

but then asked

why oh why us

when there's

no more room

for any one else

to pay them praise

he dressed himself

in sarcasm

and ran off

into the wild

to find the genuine

among the fake

she draped herself

with fears

and sat alone

in the dark