Don't blame chaos

don't blame chaos

for it cannot build

to a climatic point

it's not in its nature

to fulfill prophecies

of end of times

or bring about a

specific calamity

it is way too busy

being random at

uncertain intervals

if you look to the end

you won't find chaos

for it would have

already finished it

before you could see

and began and ended

again a hundred times over

don't blame chaos

if you feel enslaved

blame order and control

that enslaves the fear

you're so afraid of

The reach

that which reaches
inside and lingers
to spur a wonder
to hold attention
to cause reflect
to churn the yearn
that has dwelt
within these halls
long before it
was ever known
much longer before
the thought was sown
within these walls
that they flow
instead of stand
and yield instead
of hold their own
and shake to crack
and burst open
spilling all within
out into emptiness
so that stars know
seas and trees know
time and words know
silence and heat knows
pain and loss knows
existence is that
which reaches inside
and lingers there still

Et tu

it was a scream to

freeze your soul solid

as I drifted from a sunset filled

park into the dim lit

corridors of terror

the flash from my camera

was the only light

to reflect off the pale flesh

of the slender figure cornered in the dark

it towered over my cohorts

who knew not that it lurked

behind them and I was

vacant of voice to warn them

it was a scream to

throw you out of your body

and I plummeted into

the ocean my fears were

suffocating in to only find

myself in the same position

my cohorts were in previous

yet when the long, bony

white fingers crept over

the temples of my skull

I was instantly at peace

and a warmth was behind me

while a voice boomed

within my brain to my

shock and uneasiness

and I uttered in exchange

that we only use our ears

to hear these words or else

our hands can communicate

and the voice came again

and though something was said

I cannot say any words existed

Feathers

hold me in your stoic arms

as I shed the form I chose

these feathers weren't meant 

for the flight I'm now in

they must remain with you

in your subtle changes

that time often overlooks

I leave the tears of my body

embedded in your porous flesh

a drink you can raise your glass to

and remember me when

I've blown away with winter

Turvy George

belly up

quite right in this world

the topsy-turvy

becoming more tipsy

than topsy

and drunker the drinker

who drank this drink

and drinks until

they sing to the sink

belly up throw up

for nothing can

be kept down

not what's served

from the turvy crown

yet we only puke

and only will continue

until someone dares

tell turvy George

his piss has turned blue

Yenuta's hymn

the fluid weather ways

of slithering Yenuta

who flies through clouds

in his serpentine chariot

his winged snakes strike

the earth in flashing fright

when he grows restless

his mood turns dark

and thunders within

his cloudy temple home

when he is distant

life recedes from green

and thirsty prayers are

raised to his temple home

in hanging gourd vines

the fluid weather ways

of slithering Yenuta

who pours down onto

his brother's flesh

to renew the life

the battle of this world

Hulena's song

a golden crown
hers melts all others
with softest touch
the mother of mothers
and pierces the dark
knowing each heart
Queen Hulena shines

she flows through trees
and comforts the cold
her altar the hearth
where wisdom is told
and pierces the dark
knowing each heart
Queen Hulena reigns

her hair is afire
her heart is the heat
her hands to inspire
ignorance to defeat
and pierces the dark
knowing each heart
Queen Hulena calls

The grassy sea

are they demons
that drag me into the grassy sea
where remnants of vivid silks
and velvet are strewn
across the blades
the victims of the tempest breeze
that bleed out in the green
of earth and blue of sky

are they demons
the scents that lure
one into oblivion and memory
of life with wings
of golden dust
the nectar lust
sunrise glory fading into
the fields for ravenous feasts
at least of these
a sip, a drip on parched lips
that these demons
pour from their glamour cups

and their laughter resounds
in the calling lark and
humming bee
when their well is spent
and my despair has been
bought in full
yet I'm in their debt
for my thirst knows no end
in the grassy sea
they drag me to

Remembering Romanovs

how we're drowning in dribble

the babble has boiled over

yet no one is minding the stove

and minding without question

is insanity

when it comes to humanity

but I digress

in this address he vomited 

as our Nero does again

and again to the deflection

of those elected 

until instead one of their own

he sets his ravenous insults upon

they might have mind to portray

a scene for Julius to their pleasure

and sharpen their blades

for good measure

yet meanwhile we are

drowning in the dribble

waiting, but not much longer

for a dog will always shake

the water from its back

even if it happens 

to be orange juice

and fling those drops

to the dark edges of the cosmos

Hands to feet

these weathered hands
can't release their wear
each crease of skin
each scar of wound
each mole
each age spot
they form constellations
recounting this life
held in these hands

these battled bones
can't hold onto
what was never theirs
they must rattle
in the constant wind
play a chime
high in the tree
they were hung in long ago

these worn out feet
can't find their path
each turn they've made
only to find a dead end
and they continue on
to the end of the circle
and to wherever
dead may be