Sycamore and 26th

don't rest under the sycamore
there's work yet to be done

the road bleeds into the sky
in the rising of the sun

though you're in the middle
of leaving sleep behind in bed

yawns must be drowned in
coffee that pours into your head

don't stop at the sycamore
a bit further you must go

to listen to the masses
cooing to them as they crow

vital are you, the courier
of information and words

even at times you may feel
all the crowing is for the birds

don't get held up at the sycamore
your place is still on east

though tangled, garbled voices
may seem a fearsome beast

steady on past the sycamore
where your gleaming sword awaits

albeit a phone rather than sword
alas, cruel were the fates

Them and wind

the coats piled on
layered, lacquered leaves
of lives lived long ago
so far passed they
have yet to come


the ashes cling to
the air once was there
dust trickles down
demolished demigods
in late September


gnarled and smooth
the grasping claws
of earthbound towers
whose sap runs thin
the blood of eras


twisted tussle of dance
in the dying afternoon
and under the gluttonous moon
they call, "Friend, come to me!
Wind, blow through me!"

A September mourning

heavy breath

upon faded blades

retreats the pulse

of humming wings

earth draws back

the green

silks adorned 

with hollow shells

flowers fail 

to fully fruit 

before the first

kiss of frost

dims the candle 

of the sky

as it sinks into

southern songs

crows call out

for the cold

Eve

her fingers crawl over the sky
a spider's scamper thither, there
zig zagging weave of purple
gloom in high drifting feathers


the gold is ravenously reaped
from azure fields, gobbled up
from fiends with coal dust wings
claws that tear the day apart


dimming hours tick away
into shadows dancing for
glory of moonlight splendor
dilated pupils shall be taught


from the earth pours out
the souls soured from ash
and worms and biting beasts
that carry prey into the tombs


bones collect as twigs and
branches from a heavy ice
and grinding teeth sings to
sleep the sweet lifeless lullaby


foul the air that drifts upon
a torrent breeze to chill the flesh
the scratching breath of night
to growl and howl then bite


from hollowed out logs
crawl the throngs of creeps
and swarms to overtake as one
with stinging thorns and venom


spurred on these offspring
of shadows within darkest black
cackles thunder through the air
from the night hag named Eve

Unearthed

unearthed the underneath 

of retired and tiring bodies

in decay and repose

exhumed the exhaust

of passing past 

in layers of the dust

in rust a tumor toils

upon the nails 

the timeless plague of boils

to shatter shards

below flower yards

for feisty feasting roots

your sanity lost

rolled away the marbled globe

and what your thoughts may cost

here's hoping it went unused

at least from where it was found

in the front lawn's ground

for swingers

that is of a small white ball

don't make good neighbors at all

Blank

blank, the thirsty page
my eyes rest upon.
its ravenous stare
eagerly awaits the
caress of my words,
be it fingers gliding
over keys or hand
dragging ink soaked pen.


this page, the mirror
that only states what
it has been given
and reflects outward
all of what was
heaved from the inward.


each letter, each syllable,
each line laid down
to pull my soul out
and onto the table below.


there my reflection swims
in the literary pool,
an oracle of my own fate.


showing where my
shadow has blackened the
earth, my past has cast
the line and lure through
my present image in the pool
to fish the future feast.


and round it goes for
us all in words in print
and voices softly spoken,
as simply circles form
whenever my pen bends
and touches the thirsty
page with its blank...

Squirrels and hornets

order is a human illusion
and squirrels and hornets
are the first to remind
that not everything can
be kept in a straight line


and never was there a river
that longed to flow in such a manner
still they rage behind the dams
to tear them down and run free


for chaos is the thirsty root
that feeds the sprig of choice
it nourishes the prophet
giving the soul a voice


sing they do from mountaintops
and twirl in the dance eternal
among quasars and specks

The circle serpent cult

held the sand grains
that hold the rains
and tip for sip of it

liquid poured for
those gods' thirst
in the sea of iron at the core

red for crimson
laid upon their brow
the taste drips down

precious rubies fall
between floorboards
into the hellish hall

belly of the beast
of the overlooked feast
where mother eats her child

yet to birth another
it is all she knows
this give and take mother

the children dance too
they parade into their tombs
their coffins their wombs

and suckle from the sea
of iron at the core
begging on hands and knees

their mother feeds away
stealing from night to pay the day
and lingers in her debts

yet debts are wiped clean
after the turn of stars above
and gold from the harvest glean

to the winds words are said
the circle serpent turns
and the sea of iron burns

Was wet

cellular saturation
the roots dive through
into depths of soggy soil


this body
the dust it came from
in heavens only heaven
knows where


dust spat on
to raise this clay
on a rainy day


it only knew wet
and when to sip
and never stop


heated throat
a wick inflamed
to burn from bottle
and ghosts that chase


only the cold
glacial salvation
to freeze the fire


only the ice
to wake the rain
from burning desire


to firm the fall
of drowning flesh
to blot the bed
flooded and floating


out into desert hands
the arid promised lands
where wet once was known

Doodles

which of these are tucked
into crevices of the page
along margins in obscene
obtuse angling lines
tilted and crammed along
the printed images
and other fonts of various
letters and numbers

these verbal doodles of
original blurps mutilated
by scratching pens with
venomous ink that tie up
thoughts in corrective webbing

these doodles that dangle
from rafting drafts and
may withstand the tireless
waves of editorial seas

which of these ascend
to their own printed page
and pompous font and
be accessorized by the
flowing dribble of doodles