Raven rain

I've grown into the gray
brittle skeletons that are
probably still sunning
themselves in the sand
among the sea of sage
their silvery bent bones
curled up and warped
retracting sinewy fibers
after each drying day
the over exposure to
lapping radiation isn't
the force acting on me
for I've seen days of wet
and dark and ravens
that raise mushrooms
from their soiled graves
that casts a hue of green
on almost everything
I no longer sit in sand
and count what might be
yet gnarled I've become
as those skeletons in the sun

All those discarded

what I wouldn't give
so many times said
looking back on the sidewalk passed
it could have been fun
it might have been the moment
that would have changed it all
that definition of my life before it
and my life thereafter
it should have been the time
I should have said that
which would have meant more
if I had known before
what I've since learned
it looked as though I should have gone forward
instead of making that turn
I thought I should pass it up
this time, there'll be another
I'll keep it to myself
I thought was best
it wasn't time to pop the tab
and pour out my soda just yet

The genie with the maple leaf tongue

the genie with the maple leaf tongue 

is a sight to see on genie day

which just happens to be this day

and a huge festival is held 

in his honor in a very peculiar way

some far off place rhyming with

Transylvania, or perhaps there indeed

towns will drink up all the bottles of beer

and will save the last bottle

for the genie to drink its own cheer

the villagers will wait in their stupors

surrounding that last bottle for

the genie with the maple leaf tongue to appear

who knows if it's truly a genie

or just lasting vapors from all the beer

anywho, usually one of the folks 

will eventually pipe up and proclaim

they've seen the genie pop up from the spot

by this time it's more than likely 

growing dim and they'd all rather be toking pot

the village elders then gather to consult

after such a proclamation has been made

and question the witness on what was seen

if the genie was seen with his tongue

poking out then they'll be snow on Halloween

if that is mentioned the witness is shunned

and won't get any until the ringing in of New Year

poor, poor pitiful the time will be for thee

but if the witness sees no tongue

a wish will be granted by the nearest oak tree

and all the villagers will then take their turns

visiting the tree to whisper their desires

in turn they must take an acorn back with them

who knows why, like any of it's true

these are all just words said at a whim

Light within the storm

the breath

the torrid tempest of the breast

rises and falls in tidal waves

across the flesh

and acids gush 

a volcanic rush up the throat

as foul phantoms gather in the gut

poisonous vapors seep 

through cracks of this earth

the thunder clasps in coughing fits

or sudden gasps of pain

from electric bolts that scatter

though the webbing of the nerves

and fogs drift in to linger

a sleep starved misty vision of the world

within this stormy suit of dirt

the light beams from clearings in the clouds

it dances in the dark chasms of bones

reflecting off the lonely pools of blood

in shattered mental states

it is the rain for a thirsty body

the wind for a listless mind 

the lightning for a weary soul

In shadows

pierce the shadows from candle wax
still it drips in the flow from the flame
a timid drink for lurking phantoms
the liquid drops flowing from the flame

shattered the shadows from lantern glow
midnight trips for secret rites of night
behind bars and through empty glass
tipsy feet dance for secret rites of night

abandon the shadows from streetlight lamp
where wages gleaned for penny pleasures pushed
when knives sing a softer evening tune
wages plundered for penny pleasures pushed

crack the shadows from moonbeam eggshell
bat wings fly as unseen dragons eat the light
ravenous the dark stalkers just beyond sight
matching appetites of unseen dragons eating light

Tethered timbers

this forested sea of them and us

a bind of flesh, of liquid, of gold

the stones that crush and are crushed

and spat upon and stirred and molded

after each explosion 

the destruction, the decay

the creation in clay

which rises and blooms 

to follow the unblinking father eye

and ignore those others that remain

but have already given in

this forested sea of seize and surrender

the spillage of self into it all

tearing of hides, pawing of earth, waiting

in dissection of the being birthed 

is all that follows

and recedes into the tempest beast

a forgotten chaotic hymn sings

lullaby of mother tidal waves

this forested sea of tethered timbers

a rite to sever the root

to break the chains of the cell

the flight from stagnant hell

in sacrifice within the temple

the bodies, a path to where

Final bow

bring your wasted heart
the coin you've overspent
we are expected at the show
the one to end all others

grab your soiled soul
dirty laundry of your past
doesn't matter how we look
have to get to the final show

bring your burdened brain
the hat you lost long ago
we must find the damn theater
before they close the door

wear your lacy flesh
you've always worn it well
we've got the tickets in hand
time to beat the final bow

Precipice

shattered ashes
the flypaper of past
binding, the
powdered memories
the soot and fragments
morsel crumbs left
behind by life
enough to remember
far from enough
to have, nothing
to hold tightly
warm in hands
with breath and
beat and color
nothing to have
what is to want
all has slipped
from yesterday
nothing has sprung
from tomorrow
fate laid out
in the shattered ashes
of what's left
and the abysmal void
of what may be

Weave of the shroud

those patterns laid out
in the weave of the shroud

what threads were spun
from carded time
so fine the hourly fibers
from breaths and gasps
sighs and exhales
only strangulated
in the weave of the shroud

for the weaver has
always woven the last
moment for freely flying wings
those eerie patterns sparkle
in the last lights
drowsy eyes spy
and drift into foggy sleep
of the darkening sky
the sweeping indigo
in the weave of the shroud

blanketed upon
both those who scurry
within the hollow dark
and those who sleep
in the weave of the shroud

Bacterial digits

bacterial digits spread
in their great sporedom
the boredom that infects
zombie flesh and hurls
them into shopping mall
windows tearing through
the glass to grind their
grisly teeth on mutated
fossils we just won't let
rest in the earth but give
new birth and rise to all
that is lovely in the eyes
the mechanical eyes of
these bacterial digits that
with whipping thrash
of innocent thought input
the plaguing notion of
want before need or want
is need or want has
stabbed need again and
again slashing its heart
and feasting on the bits
to claim there is only want
in these bacterial digits
that rise above all for
after all they have no
end they know no cease
and desist and lead all
those whom they infect
to the hollow existence
that is theirs of eternal
hunger and thirst and
abysmal void that only
consumes never to gain