Departing Normalcy: Liftoff / Prologue

Flashing lights illuminating liftoff flights
     Ships dwindle to stars propulsion rocket in the night
          Slum chumps stare at the spaceport through screens
                    and steel fences. And the air screams, rent as
ascending angels tear the silken stratosphere
          galactic gamble each and every voyage
                              every vessel a missile
carrying the seeds of a mothers tears, a million fears and hopes
dreams pounded into the shapes of ancient sailing ships and set
astern. sternly surveying the whole of space. frames tense eager
     titanium birds strain to fly. built for the sky they languish inside
          only come alive when they reach escape velocity and

hang

          alive and lonely
                              slowly rotating
                                             in pure inky blackness
star splattered chaotic Pollack canvas
     insane universe of random chance where
a thousand million true tall tales have launched
               from the cracked tarmac of this spaceport.

          I grew up here, ya know
               this very planet, watching this very spaceport

although in my day, they didn’t have these electric fences.

          through the eyes of a slum child, the voice is enormous
wise, weary, worn with smoke and adventure and stardust
          a hero in a battered bomber jacket with
war insignia and a thousand patterned patches.

          in my day, you didn’t have to
                    (Snip, Snip, Snip, Snip)
               cut through a security fence, just to steal back my own...

well, lets just say it was a lot more fun back then

     and the voice slips through the perimeter like a noiseless ghost
               an illusion of cool that no one will ever believe
“like jah cowboi'd uv chatted up a durtey slum rat like ye, channi”

channi the slim slum chump slumps home to mom and pop, while
the voice slinks through the shadows, dancing in rhythm with the
security lights and camera sightlines avoiding all and
leaving no trace. to his own ship he steals, to quickly escape.

tracking collar clanks to the cracked tarmac.
          which soon heats and twists,
cracking in the heat from the retro rockets.
          rising on tongues of flame

ahem.

a creased voice crackles across the flight tower intercom.

okay suckers. you’ve had me impounded here for two weeks on
suspicion of trafficking in illegal goods.
well, i’ve got places to be and beings to see
and this state of stasis just isn’t suiting me.

sayonara, spacenerds.

and the Io points her painted prow skywards
     with a sonic boom she soars into the sunrise
               the port named normalacy dwindles to a memory while
                         the universe rises to fill the viewport

The Beautiful Game (Merry Christmas Dad)

sneakers squeak on slick hardwood reflecting
halogens overhead harsh glare. smell of sweat and
socks and shoes, soccer’s perfume on basketball courts
curly blond head floats amidst the D, bobs and weaves
in a crowded box, calls for the ball in to feet, twist, turns
away from traffic, watching, waiting for a
blindside run from the back, patience, just like in practice

curly blond bill Clinton hair tousled discretely
coach’s hands calloused by holding onto beliefs, by
a thousand hands shook. workingman’s coach teaching work
to a bunch of munchkin hooligans who just want
starbursts, or world cup, or anything but
drills and drills. drilling them in real skills
skulls filled with teamwork and respect

a thousand practices to teach a work ethic
that’s the tricky bit. taking tired little tykes
and making learning fun. class on the run
bonding exhausted little atoms into
a molecule of ferocious minnows. nibbling at
tidal waves until they grow up into
gators snapping on west side folks (7 to 7)

curly blond hair contained, headband and ponytail
eyes free to see the game. general overseeing the field
sweeper shouting commands, dominant, game in hand
playing his heart out for an audience of one. not concerned
with omission comes a mission, bitter fuel for teenage fission
belief stays strong, rooted in a rock in the stands, like feet
sunk in the sand. proving himself just because he can

transform practice lessons into a game changing man
a game can change a man, or a man can change a game
but at the end of the day its all the same. play for
love. of the game and what it means, of those who
taught you and the joy that it brings. no matter
the why or the where, when or the how
play the game for love or not at all

curly blond hair haloed on a Sunday morning, early
ball into space from the back. forward takes and attacks
overlap by the right back, laid off then quick, one two
true father son connection nearly telepathic so practiced
burst into the box, defense so static. one time sweeper
now scorer. assisted by a lifetime of lessons, dedication
dedicating every goal to the man who taught him to kick a ball.

A Home Cooked Meal (Merry Christmas Mom)

aromas waft seductively up the stairs
taking their time. luxuriating in the climb.
nose hairs tingle, thrilling in anticipation
firing neurons, overloading sensory input
exploding fireworks, raining confetti
the joy I feel when I smell mom’s spaghetti

run downstairs, just to watch her stir the sauce
anticipation so sweet, almost don’t want to eat
until I see the feast and gorge like a beast
don’t stop until I can’t see my feet.
I can’t help myself, its just too good
mom makes a meaner meal than poverty in the hood

I don’t know how she does it, maybe just practice
I have all her recipes, blueprints for ecstasy
but I can only build meals, not fountains of bliss
I think its because mom cooks with her heart
her cooking spiced with love and sweet memory
the taste of spaghetti a warm embrace of joie de vivre

Prelude: Departing Normalcy

As the rockets kicked back, back kicked the captains chair
worn faux leather boots upon the dash, a cloud of smoke
smugglers respite, the moments between here and there
the inbetween of speed, motionless moments of movement
oceans of space, bridged in an instant

a dingy display flickers, gives out. ding, ding, ding
a not so gentle slap reawakens the slacking LEDs.
lights don’t die easy around here. nothing does

nobody neither.

there are no stars
in the time between
      that infinite instant
                suspended sentence
                                    displaced dimension


a spaceship, sits? hovers?
      is cobbled together of a hundred hulks
      a million memories, lives patched into the hull
whispered confidences line the halls and

           hungry ghosts eye his skull

     the captains chair swivels to contemplate survival
          escape velocity achieved by a hair
               the space behind left scalded and bare
                    seared by searching lights fantastic
                         and inimical to all things material


          well, here goes nothing


               see ya later, space chumps...

Skull Atoll

canvas sails sigh in a stale breeze
slits in their sides smile ragged grins
dead men lie with daggers in their eyes

sun bleached skeletons hail the incoming tide
saluting those who ride the crimson dusk
darkening skies promise ill luck

fevered desires see salvation in hell’s hallowed halls
rowing headlong into an oceanic ossuary
a cove above a cathedral of catacombs

tattered sailors sought sanctuary here
shattered souls broken upon the rocks
bones scatter as they reach the dock

blood beaked gulls scatter, screaming
hurling insults they rise into the rusty sky
leaving their meal to its eternal rest

flesh hangs loosely on gaunt frames
a sepia trio scoured by scurvy and storm
washed ashore on rocks devoid of mercy

the gull cloud rises, white against a black noon sky
former oar slaves despair. paradise turned abattoir
sanctuary seen on the horizon. carpeted with death

corpses crunch beneath their steps
as the rain begins to lash the wrecks
seeking shelter slaves can never rest

lighting flash, thunder crash, a cleft ahead
dark grimace in the rocks, lined with jagged teeth
refuge glimpsed for fugitives at the end of hope

in a fugue they flee the unfurling hurricane
scattering warning signs in their wake they run
heedless of headless omens. headlong into the breach

the cave swallows them whole.
the sea claims its toll
the end credits roll

cigarette blues

sandbag eyelids heavy with dust
braced tight defenses stay squeezed shut
frustration hyperventilation desperation
clenched fists jaw taut teeth grind
the brick’s kiss bruises knuckles
nicotine hypodermic clamped lips
flaming injection of addictions prescription
inhale focused mind
exhale man on a mission
looking for a cold meal on a rainy night
insatiable appetite of the bottomless abyss

Go hit the bars, gut not looking for food
one scotch two scotch rotgut door
moving on implacable can’t stand still
dowsing for whiskey with dollars spent
trying to drown in his element
some kind of sick atonement
self martyrdom is an ugly mask
self flagellation is a thankless task
self destruction is good while it lasts

at the third fifth, unexpected breath caress
a tendril of smoke seduces fingertips and lips
twining, lounging, laying languorously lethal
dangerous dame wicked eyes and a smoky voice
drifting away spiraled, stretching, showing beckoning
incredible whorls worlds lost in the folds and curves
oblivion when the first taste hits the lips

ash is the bastard child of smoke
a broken home flicked into an ashtray
the coal remains, naked pain creeping closer
desperately draw down desire, lovers are liars
lying, alone together in the remains of the fire

a return to the form

two words
captured in
thick ink
brush strokes
coarse horse
hair dipped
dark oil
well drawn
deep stain
tip tracery
tattoo engraving
hearts blood
inked sins
battles soak
rich paper
black paths

dear pain
you will always
have my love
sincerely
the poet
the mute

imprisoned in the pen

Concrete Dreams

steam exhaled from a manhole mouth masks
a shady silhouette stalking the late night
london fog. feral eyes glint beneath hood
steel tension talons clasp suited blueblood heart
heat flushes a florid face like schoolgirl blushes
sweat stained Armani acquires a new taste. fear
taints the air. “who’s there” quavers impotently
lacking the power to pierce the satin night
the mist swirls, curling vapor now empty of eyes
disappeared like half remembered memories
slipping away in a miasma of excess and sex
lost in the creeping clouds, time inhales pain
the breath of a hundred thousand ghosts
rises from ancient streets. cloying, concealing
secrets and sins soon lost in the amnesiac mists
“twas nothing” brow wiped “jus drunk thassall”
and the suit stumbles home to privilege and power
the silhouette alone owns the witching hour
from the shadows he reemerges to regard
his prison home canvas companion
clack clack clack hiss.
stroke after stroke.
clack clack clack hiss
layer upon layer.
a black shadow in the London night, alive
carving, crafting, proving, demanding
recognition. redemption. rescue.
mosaic murals the blood of the streets
the suns first rays find the artist departed
returned to his grave, hidden in his barrow
waiting to haunt the city another night
left behind his mark on the street wall
a skull and crossbones, fifty feet tall
postmodern piracy, hijack legacy
subvert the very walls that hold you in
repaint the world with a grin

1:50AM Freestyle

eyes unite in dissatisfaction
   apathetic attraction
     we crave the contact
       crave the action


I stave off addiction with my pen,
hand on the 40 as i’m writing this hymn
singing my psalms off the palm of my hand,
this ink stained skin on demand
tattooing the world with my word of command, so here I stand
head haloed like an angel with dust,
I’m waiting on your table till you turn to rust
serving you I must but I’ll wait till I bust,
I’m the pie and you’re the crust
so get stuffed, pizza hut jabba ain’t got you butt,
your purebred and I’m a mutt
inbred ass bitch anemic and bleeding,
while I’m getting high as the ceiling
serving you these dishes I made with my dreams and my hopes
this bisque ain’t no joke, a soupy syrup of quotable notes
like lines on a boat tied so taut we can float
these knots that arise when I speak or I spoke
pretzel you up these ropes that I wrote
twizzlers of words like twisters of nerves
on your first day in court, the beat of your heart
you thought you were cool, thought you were smart
the taste of shame is tart and sour, lack of power
the hour has come to play your part to the hilt
the plot is written and the bits been cast
its all a play, you are doomed by your past
they’ll smile while you cry and never tire of pain
these snakes who inhabit the temples that gain
systems a sinkhole, survivors got priors
prey to the priests of porn and desire
only escape is to rise higher in fire
your dreams are drugs are fuel on your pyre
every coal will one day expire
entropy rules in the bog and the mire
life is a swamp this systems the flies
a disease sucking the life out with lies

1:45AM: black magic freestyle

brewed in the mill I ferment in the sun
mad town is the home to which I come
mad man of my age with no race to run
still waiting at the line for a starter’s gun


no track no path just wrath and wrack
stacks on fire in my eyes chaos attack
black magics at my back a heart I lack
riding dragon beats into battle never slack
spit fire like my steed this is all I need
a silver tongue and a beat that bleeds


I ain’t no knight in shining armor no hero here
I stole the princess and drank all the king’s beer
a marauding minstrel singing tales of woe
mad flow niagra down the falls I dove
hit the surface clean incision, aerial precision
perfect verbage how I make my living
clove the waters, cutting liquid with my name
slice so deep I’ll probably hit a vein
a rich run of some ridiculous form
diamond mine mind shining like the morn
the purest gold becomes the new norm
cheers! lets all have a beer, this one’s on the house
have no fear, until I get near and your knees shake
from ear to ear. smile on my face during an earthquake
I caused the tremors by sippin her milkshake


I’m a money makin banker whose just a lil stanker
monkey wrenchin but I’d rather hanky pank-her
I’m a dog, call me old yeller, my mouths the teller
and im screwin Cinderella she is the bella the best
and I’m the beast with the chest, no rest no stress
I’m a madtown magician making the dead rise
conjuror making the jury testify that cake is pie
that gravity’s a lie with these rhymes I fly
killin the dead before they rise from hearses
these funky verses murdering curses
mummies need they nurses the worst is
they call me an angel yet I’m thirstin for sin
spit truth all day but you can’t buy a win
these tall tales I spit with a devilish grin

kittycorner from the manneken pis

Duvel
poured into a fluted glass
        which flutes likes a tulip does 
              a large bulb, arabesque indented meniscus and a lip 
when you pour the beer right down along
       the lower curve out 
             of that rounded arabesque tulip glass 
                    it seems to be all foam 
                             at first.
       until 
 it rises golden 
        spouting up the curve, along the glass flower 
              hitting the bottom and swirling bubbles up 
                     rising fermented waterspout typhoon 
choppy waves of heady foam
       above golden ocean 

and then the bottle is empty and the glass
        perhaps half full of beer
              another half inch of foam 
                    to dew my moustache 

Athena

wide white wings whispering graceful wisdom
knowledge revealed in shadowed glances
golden eyes hold the secrets of the sun
burnished whirlpools swirling pinwheel trances

Hindu calm over Grecian still life
until flight breaks out, a snow owl flown
Athena flies in the shape of a shrike
raptor dance in the sky like leaves windblown

the chase ends atop a Doric column
gold discs meet brilliant gaze unblinking
contract signed in the silence so solemn
a new ally in the war for thinking

the marriage of wisdom to intellect
both Athena’s gift and her last regret

The Owl

moonlit forest glade, dappled forest bower
pink fingers entwine the blue robe of night
Apollo departs from Hades at this hour
horizon haloed, corona of light

beneath the leaves heavy with morning dew
Athena’s gaze regards the rise of day
races the sun to discover anew
that heady edge where light and shadow play

silent forest speaks beneath sandaled feet
an immortal eye regards her passage
owl gaze camera on Athena fleet
staring enrapt at her divine visage

she is the dawn’s herald divine heiress
brain born storm spawn insane seductress


 

dark kin

there’s a node on my soul
a tumor growing
dying to be whole

swelling seeking lesion leeching
clinging limpet cloning legionary cells
hiding leaking seeping weeping sores
a dark son rising inside the house
noir Apollo killing to be free from
sordid damp clinging swamp morass
moss and lichen fungus of sin
a rude fugue occludes my mood

dark kin born of nightly sin
growing at night, denied the light
gnawing at the door, sawing at the floor

try to fight but I can’t win. roar
of frustration as dark heart eludes
my grasp. slips through my fists
like smoke, wrapping around my
head like an unheard joke. my rage
feeds it. my pain needs it. my heart
sunders, a house divided, split level
one good earthquake away from ruin

I turn to face my reflection
sable manifestation, so well known
I am my dark kin. these sins are my own

embrace the surface of the mirror fiercely
cracks spread liquid ripples slip right
through. face to face with my visage made
of ebony and smoke, black flames smile
at some secret joke. that only I can hear
raven dark rushes over me in an instant
coated in coal breathing in soot. washed
clean, in dark sand. breathing in jet fumes

until my breath frosts my image
and only I look back at me. whole
knowing that my darkness is free

The Spectacle

is a three faced god called the other
we worship a jealous, hungry deity
impiety yields time in prison
the price of peace a silent tongue
mind numb and eyes stitched blind
invisible chains of smoky lies

the Man in the top hat ringmaster of lies
mediascape magician, conjuror for the other
audience attentive, rapt as he robs them blind
director of hyperlink circus search engine deity
speaking narcotic ambient gibberish tongues
actors playing the part of inmates in prison

a predatory grin watching a first day in prison
car salesman card shark killer swims in his lies
buying his way cold blooded snake for a tongue
the dollar on his collar marks out the other
priest of wall street tithes derivates to his deity
ignores every prophet, especially the blind

because if the lights didn’t have eyes to blind
the mind might escape from its visual prison
reject Nielsen piety where the TV is the deity
seductive goddess medusa media its all a lie
the screen has three faces each an other
voyeur staring into your living room with a forked tongue

power enforced through the mother tongue
to all alternative expressions the state is blind
the law is a realm ruled by the other
webs of steel lock the spirit in a dark prison
the third head of Cerberus sleeping lies
before the gate of justice’s hall, state deity

we buy in, pay our tithes to each face of the deity
we learn to speak their brazen hyperlink tongue
we accept and do not laugh at our own lies
we put out our eyes because they say we are blind
we plug ourselves in willingly to virtual prison
we crave connection as we alienate all others

dad's day

happy father's day from the paris airport.

Pont de la Concorde

granite bones stained black with age
remains. silent screams static on the page,  
history caged the age of kings ends in rage

granite cells revolution torn asunder
Frankenstein for tourists to float under
look up in wonder. would stone remember?

granite eyes saw huddled masses cast in
yearning to be free from prison bastion
tattooing names, confessions, dated sin

granite skin imprinted. liberty’s nadir
dissidence, repression, secrecy’s lair
are the scars still there? did stone care?

granite ears heard a thousand score
prayers for mercy. did they pity poor
wretches hidden behind an iron door

granite hearts pumping black blood oil
poison. a dark reward for a life of toil
only escape, from this mortal coil

granite nerves once screamed pain
torn shrieking in the hurricane
cast down when the storm came

granite mouth permanent grimace
frowning down on mirrors surface
forced to reflect on time’s abuses

granite souls still feel the embers
screams, tears and pleas. surrender
stone wept from July to November

Cafe Dome

sunlit café ashtray sparkles steel scarred with age
dimpled with sacred scorch marks and ancient ash stains
try to imagine with your nose. try to taste
         a thousand and twelve Gauloise Blondes 
         two hundred fifty seven Winston Specials 
         three thousand thirty nine Lucky Strikes
         four hundred sixty six hand-rolled Drums
         five thousand twenty five Marlboro Lights
         (all this in the past month)
gain a sense of the scent that must linger
in this haven for secondhand smokers, inhaling
the night with their beer, escaping their cares
poisoning their chairs. the pale Beachwood tables
stained an ashen beige. worn woven wicker stools
stained legs and holes in the weave

paris high art - the louvre

Synthetic Waltz

“oh maker tell me did you know that this love would burn so yellow
becoming orange and in its time explode from grey to black then bloody wine
oh maker have you ever loved or known just what it was
I cant imagine the bitter end of all the beauty that we’re living in”
-Janelle Monae, “Oh Maker”

i.
moonlit confessional outside l’arc electronique. she is
the night, dark and mysterious, a hint of synthetic light
glinting yellow from the rim of the glass in her hand
hers is a song unheard sung across time. an elegy
meant for ears divine, techno dub heaven sent
the clouds check wetness. but lighting flashes
heat storm in the heart of the desert neon moon
his shadow cast across the harsh fluorescent
eclipses her. a light switch back to the task
at hand.

“Ça va?”         “ca va bien, nous dansons?”

her black and white suit sets off his nicely
her arm through his relaxed yet poised, unmoving

“Mademoiselle, après vous”     “merci mon amour”

he follows her onto the tessellated dance floor
his steps pulse prismatic fractal ripples in his wake

“Vous prenez la chanson” “le Waltz Synthétique, sil vous plait DJ”

hips sway as the DJ plays their song. ancient
melody refracted through the prism of the age
the first steps remain the same

ii.
         heavenly choir beaming out the tune 
she thinks to herself il faut que executez vite
              spring coils subtly in his arms 
                                            the beat drops. 

          propelling demanding propulsive and deep 
obedient feet sweep into the song and sing along
       spinning arpeggio glances locked with aplomb 
              ticking time bomb graceful as a flashing leg 
                        revealing a snub nosed friend on her ankle  
his heart pounds and pupils dilate.
                   but still he dances. with a razor ace up his sleeve  
           her hair occludes her eyes. artificial disguised 
     sand snake dancer cancer creeping ever closer 
judging the distance from hand to holster

they draw.
      blade breaks the wake
              bullet creases caresses
                            red blood. 
                                     blue blood. 
                                            eyes grown ruthless 

iii.
“never bring a knife to a gun fight. time to test that one”

his anger is a white hot yellow flame flaring inside of him
his wound is a candle beside it burning bloodwine oil igniting
temper. betrayal is blue made purple under dance floor lights
a slash in a side reveals synthetic secrets. droplets bead
and fall in his eyes a gash in his temple so nearly his death
face a red mask of rage staining his suit at the nape

“merde”

she reloads as she drops to her knees. he dances
across electric sheep in pursuit of a damsel deadly
blue Danube waltz past gunfire shredding the air
carving his way forward blade slips from sleeve
breeze at his back as he slides for the kill
floor blooms with petals of colorful krill
tags the bag and plants a spike in her grill

iv.
sparks flew when they first locked eyes
and now sparks fly from her impaled eye
circuits exposed and coolant blood pools
invert his reflection. he steps past smashed
ruined facemask with a crack in the façade
spark flares sulfur head ignites packed tabac
the end becoming orange, fading grey to black
“was it worth the price you paid
was your pride so great
to think you could cheat fate?”
he asks her ruined ear as the last title plays
and the film flickers fin in her eyes
and he waltzes away with his pain and his lies

paris graffiti

Ode to A Busker

habitual ritual game trails worn into forest ruts
deep grooves in a record indicate rare cuts
scars mar a smooth face until it rusts

canyons worn into leather roar rivers through cowhides
water runs rivulets singing through creased smiles
old crows feet frame coal baby blues old as lies

squeak and creak. and the creek’s bones ache late at night
even a stream’s joints get tight. even steam needs the light
dying to find the lost symphony where water and ice fight

a face is the map of a life. composed by delicate hands
score read by the fingers of a violinist dancing in the sand
crafting music to make stones cry until the hills stand

gap toothed mountainous grin the legacy of sins onstage
childlike joy within weeping agates in a net of wrinkled age
rocky fingers caress sweet strings into a story with no page

cry the laughter of the babbling brook
sing a story not found in any book
no one spares a dollar or a look

What, To Michelangelo, is David?

crafting the wind in marble
casting the breeze in stone
catching a zephyr in the moment
sculpting transience alone

raw and rough the rock regarded
the sculpture starts undifferentiated
unworked, unmarked, uncut, simply
stone. until the soul pours from his head

and the chisel in his hand. struck
chips fly and chunks of white
veined with grey and green and
hues and streaks fall to the ground

delicate detritus litters the workshop
floor. the figure emerges slowly
rough at first, but lines begin to
take shape. limbs begin to

appear. revealed, created or found?
the stone takes breath. the shape
starts to shake, to live, movement
in the corner of his eye

he sleeps in the studio. constantly
aware of the eyes he watched arise
float to the surface of the stone, drawn
forth by the paintbrush chisel.

marbled whorls of color in pale cheeks
life leeched into silent stone with quietus
just out of reach. peace
is the cessation of obsession

oblivion is the end result of creation
oblivious, he keeps on sculpting a son

No One Ever Knocks Anymore: A Noir Nocturne

gum on the shoe of a man with a gun
          that and a nose for trouble, head for booze and eye for
the kinda girl who can make a crowded bar sweat
         condensation beading on lips
                       even the glasses can’t look away

in a red dress and heels she walks in
                                        what else. dames. every one acts like
she’s the first case walked in here all
                                        week. can’t remember the last time
head pounds hangover, lip curls to cut.

“Hey Dollface…”

but
      this one’s different
                                        she has a gun
                                                          too

hammer cocked back .38 cyclops wide primed against
anvil of recognition. ACME printed on the side.
        chest caves in memory implosion  
                        Wile E Coyote flat in the wake
Roadrunner in red raises one black brow
over  
               those eyes
                ice blue diamonds glitter

“you have the most beautiful eyes…“

in a sundress and a straw hat she poured cheap wine

seedy celebration for a job well done

wicked smile dances

well, never thought I’d see you
              again with a piece. always had issues with
                           trust me. you wanna put down that
                                          gun swung handle to head.    
                                                                out cold dead
pistol whip imitation mahogany temple desecrated  
                      floored. fade to black. oblivion beckons  
                              welcome back. To a lack, a have not

              seen the plates on the getaway car. feet staggered to
              running down the dingy stairs, two at a time
              tires squeal, ignition catches. sputters

“stop it. you silver tongued….”

a kiss, a glance, frame a moment .

two thieves at the top of their game

engage. pursuit. not again you siren
           wails, screech, dodge the fuzz, speeding
                      to conclusions. she must have come

for the empty band of skin on a white knuckled hand on the wheel
for the fingers, so fragile. love is a femme fatale with a knife in hand
for the memory of better days, the broken knuckles of a brawler, a drunk, a

“A toast. To us. To the best thieves in this damn dirty…”

city lights wash out the stars but all he sees

diamond eyes reflect the streetlights halogen glare

backlit billboards set the scene

thieving witch, this is what I get. never trust a
         fool and his money, funny how cool the breeze  
                   clears the air. breathe in clean

she always did have nerves of steel and  
              curves in the road betray how he feels
                          his way in the darkness, car parked a block  
                  away she ran but tabs kept. bolt hole motel can’t run

gun in hand. gum on shoe. hands of a man who knows he won’t shoot

“here. I want you to have this…”

dive bar at 3AM, heads packed with sand, hearts full

a pull from the bottle, a neon love song

married to the thrill of the chase

 
       just to see her one more time can’t trust my own mind
              can’t turn her in but oh through the  
                      window pane ballet, Venetian blinds broken

she looks at a glint of light in her palm.
tears fall like shell casings the last time
fingers curl, clutch like churls for lust

                     woman in a red dress. legs to here and pain for years
 

“two halves, one heart. two diamonds….”

Los Angelotes (The Angelfish)

“Hey Blanquecino, where you goin so fast?”
grimy halls of an underwater project.
a fish talking to its ghost? blue fin angelfish
and a paper cutout that glitters in the sun
red eyes regard tormenter, pupil less pits
full of pain.

at night, he was a wraith, invisible
a pale shadow, a shade of grey in a
world of blue and black. he prayed for
cloudy days. for in the sun how he shone
iridescent pearlescent magnificent
“Freak. Mutante”

whispers came, whisked to his ears
by warning, warming currents. “los angelotes
quieren matar el monstrou”. he
sought asylum in the dark, crevices
rocks and abandoned rooms where
love once lived

“oye lechoso”. cuts through the waves. framed
in the window, where his grandmother once
watched him play. he turns haloed gold in
light, reflecting, radiating. regrets his return?
where there is one soon blood will run
dives into the sun

through the mirror escape velocity
through the waterlogged streets, swimming
through the kelp forests. fleeing the future
fruitlessly, frustration mingles salt with fresh
water and tears inseparable. leaving
the only home he ever knew

he heads north, heedless and short of breath
no destination, looking back is a death trap
beating on against the current, sure of nothing
but a dreadful fate. this fish can’t look back
can’t think, merely swims on
ocean ends with a thud

his world stops here. shorn off by a barrier
of nothing, invisible, intangible cessation of
reality split by a plane of glass
water on one side, air on the other
he throws his body against
the end of his life

reduced to raw frustration and mad abandon
wildly testing the limits of industrial partition
energy spent and breath expelled, he floats listless
witlessly watching bubbles rise free from prison
rising sun’s beams rainbows, stockade prisms
caught in a cage of light

nowhere to turn, nowhere to run, he slowly spins to
face the sun. beating down from on high, spitting
epithets at the sky. no refuge found, no escape allowed,
lonely albino was always lost in a crowd. by himself
he always played, grandma’s fins were his safe place
a home lost to time

“Albo” echoes all around, sourceless sound
he spins, and spins again. seeking speaker
futile desire, he can hear, they are near.
no where to run anymore, fate is clear
as the wall at his back. bracing for attack
silhouetted in a sunbeam

los angelotes leisurely appear, slipping
into position, scales and eyes glistening with
anticipation. they listen for their cue
sibilant syllables spell his doom
“Asesina, mata, erradica” they come
hungry for blood

like a spectator he gazes upon himself
watching. blue and yellow bodies streaking
slow motion towards a sunlit shadow in their midst
mind clear of mist. “Here I come” mouthed
aims his bow at imminent reunions above
only family, only love

he rises past the mass, the writhing wild frenzy
fish can’t fly, can they? time to test or take his rest
escape through the waves, break the surface
keep ascending through the air, through the clouds
“Angel Albino” makes grandma proud
blood red sun welcomes him home

Free Soloing

there is no pity in this implacable face
there is no mercy in the wind’s whistle
there will be no quarter in this battle

to test his mettle he enters the lists
steps into the ring and raises his fists
cagematch to the death, one on one
striving to rise as high as the sun
braving it all, bare knuckled brawl
daring to fall, the luck of the draw
shadows call makes him look small

in one corner stands the skeleton of the world
salient spires pierce from the earth, fierce pain
broken femurs protruding raw. the champ
with a winning streak longer than he is high
and in the other corner is the challenger
an upstart who thinks, dares, to surmount
this ape seeks to conquer time, to place
his mark as high as he can reach
stone smirks silently, confident

to tell the tale he scales the shale
stony whale, flukes and a fluted tail
he rides the great grey humpback
over a switchback, carrying no pack
just lungs full and tendons taut
muscles strain without a thought
mindless journey into naught

man meets mountain, it’s merely madness
to crack the cumulus citadel is the quest
Olympian castle wreathed in clouds
Promethean scale and upward bound
in the ascent he seeks a sense
of worth unknown on the earth
rising higher rarely glimpsed heights
rarefied air and starlit nights
breathe champagne bathe in light
in the struggle he forgets to worry
lost in the journey, falling up
sleeps like just another rock

Norwegian Royalty

A storm of butterflies lost above the Norwegian coastline,
snowcapped peaks and fertile lowland valleys shadowed
by billowing black eyed hurricane, swarms of orange over
hidden inlets and rivers running to the sea

To follow the path of the storm’s destruction
would take years on foot. Tourists will gaze
upon the Viking’s proof of his gods, until
attention flits away, dancing upon the sea
breeze. And they will go back to the cities
with photos of impossible tigerskins encased in ice .

Winters edge approaches and the fjords freeze over
snakes of ice and rivers of crystal run through
A patterned white and brown, patchwork
landscape of forest, and field. All snow-covered
snow cone mountains peek through the clouds.
storm’s legacy is twisted, complicated,
unplottable gnarly lines on a map.
that do no justice to true
fractal beauty

migration patterned wings paint hurricanes
chaotic static chromatic attraction reaction
a thousand wanderers flit above the fjords
waiting for the storm to form

the colorful crowd echoes the cumulus
swirling around above, creative chaos
called the storm, whirlwind sown by hand
the tempest is a blanket of wind and rain
settling over the shore, hugging the curves
clouds fit the coastline closely, matching the
flight of the final migration. the first and last
blown off course, squall spawned swarm
summons Nordic monsoon under new moon

a thousand tiger typhoon conjurers flap
flutter, flicker, fan frantic fragile heart
lighting flashes fast and furious Norse anger
Odin’s rage invoked by delicate insects
Thor’s thunder rumbles under cloud cover
Loki’s joy at the lost of Lepidoptera, bright
chaos and sharp chance. Cutting the coastline,
lashing the shore with the pain of the sky

black and grey clouds laced with light billow
willows bend in the face of gale force ferocity
clouds of orange and black wings reap the whirl

the storm rages and ravages the insensate land
stark scape shows no hurt, but the spray strips
the softness from the green. leaving only scree
and bones in its wake. the weather is wicked
fall storms bring hail and sleet, cull the sick
flay the fat from the land, cutting teeth
leaving only that which can stand
felling the weak

and they fall from the sky like snowflakes
a month too soon. casualties of their own
mistimed monsoon. polychromatic
glittering confetti fatalities
carpet the ground as the first frost steals
over the land like a silent lover, silent killer
sealing intricate patterns beneath a layer of ice
cover the land with a blanket
a clear quilt over chaos

Alone in the Jungles of Bimini

the kapok leaves weep for his loss
fluid dew crystals roll down
broad waxy verdant spearheads
each an enameled emerald eyelid estuary

one perfect prismatic pure sphere
dangles, defying gravity from the
edge of the tip, the lip of a rip
on the leaf on one tree in the canopy

it seems to fall forever, that drop
as it passes through beams of light
casting split second prisms until
splash. Disperses into rivers of grief

inevitable rivulets escape damned eyes
seeping from unseeing orbs of blue
and white. riven with red veins of pain
refracted onto tear streaked cheeks

riveted by rising sun’s reflection
burnishing the lake as true a gold as
the rough coin in his hand
sunbeam hits, reflecting his pain

gilded crown in his palm, last
token of godhood foretold by
prophecy. Across the sea they
came, searching, searching

for a fountain of forever, of never
having to say goodbye again. Lives
lost, explorers turned conquistadors
turned prey, prophecy betrayed

tables turned, hunters hunted to
the edge of extinction. Only instinct
delayed the last deicide. Alone, lost, he
approaches the burnished mirror

perfect ovoids obey gravity’s dictates
slowly wash down cheekbone canyons
trace pathways through jawline jungles
freefall past the forests edge

mirrored miniature globe falls forever
diamond shatters when it hits the stream
symmetry splatters, casting grapeshot
undulating rings across reflective surface

knifelike precision cleaves the waves
creating shattered space in his wake
droplets fly, toucans take to the sky
wavelets radiate, no other trace

Lake Lynn, Tennessee, 1854

feverish furtive flight
                                in the watercolor pre-dawn impressionist mist
           shifts misery swirls

       concealing, revealing 
                   sounds echo unmoored, unending, untraceable – 
                                                                                                        he hopes
huddled fetal free
       escapism cloaked in smoke like dope exhaled 
               foxhole fugitive from the rope
               feet pound pavement, pursuit confused, lost the scent over 
                      running water frozen time skitter jitterbug the line 

                                watch the needle dance over taut skin
                                         dark ink dark skin barcoded

            breathe mists occluding air fog twines fingers nappy hair 

  Hiding, providing 
                   excuses embraces the erasures of races

          records set stern as faces
                             serious like whip crack heart attack
                             fear the dog that’s never spared the lash

hobbled feral fierce
         pain brewed stewed fermented decanted devoured 
                  fires rage banked brown eyes
                            coals turn to wildfire  
                                    grow grumble ancient hunger 
                    wet snout sniffs mosaic patterns through space and time
                                follow fear pheromones dark rich heady scent

                          manacles clink shiver shrink away
                                 blood etched soul stained


          naked back map
          rivers of memory scar velvet perfection
                    princely skin ridges of punishment scourge
                           kindnesses reward


resting hoping
praying with closed eyes. dawn dreamed oracle

ancient branches spread
         overhead spiderweb barren refuge
                      root throne self-made king


                          searching reaching
         sniff snuffle pant puff point strain wire taut whimper whine 
                                           chain tense leash slip
                                                         release

hoarse brays rend ears
                                         years whip rends regal rags

                bared coated salivating anticipation, hunts consummation

                                predator prey two old friends meet again

                              teeth nails hair muscle wrestle paws hands

                          freedom instinct survival driver
                                    brown coat black skin bruise throat eyes roll
                                                     bare breast. fangs leap.

            jaws caught.  
                                            torn hands re-ripped life re-wrote
                       neck turned
                                                    eyes catch
                             lock
                                            snap

back to collared kindness collared greens in cellar kitchens
brothers in servitude, sharing scraps of scraps
equally hungry, equally desperate, equally

          cold. dawn remains
                             weeping runaway
                              weary rheumy eyes close
                              frothy lips quiver. breath departs rattle leaves
                     fall breeze chills
                                    goose prickles pickles black down
             howl from afar
                            un-hung head drops. heels to hie
                  ever northward
                                           through the mists

Broken In

now that its too late.
it's all my fault, not too proud

i'm sorry, i'm sorry
mixed with the blood and memories
yolk spilled, smile rictus, tears flow
on the floor, coming from his head.
love intermingled with the blood
honeymoon. Memories of better days, better
this one together, in Nova Scotia, on their
examining when she struck. They had found
the whalebone flute that he had been
in her hands. With a carving in his hand,
and she sits on the floor, with his head

forgiveness, finally, he came back.
he turns, eyes open, pleading for
She connects with the side of his head as
(as he tried to teach her so many times).
and swings, stepping into it
she steps into the room, hesitates.
no time to see what she is looking at
crouched unwary, unprepared, distracted.
a fear, a shadow, a figure, a shade
no broken glass. A shape silhouetted.
the summer night. French doors, opened,
she can feel the fresh air, smell
the house, something is not as it should be
to ward off fear. she knows someone is in
she slinks down the hall, weapon raised

memory now, time for action.
so boring and static). No time for
the game, tried to teach her. she hated it,
friend from the softball league (he loved
retrieved, reappropriated. A gift, from his
door slides. over-sized bat remembered,
bare feet pad velvet to the closet
sheets slide silently to the floor,
and she will not let it be defiled.
This is their house, was their refuge,
explanation, strategy, ideas, weapons.
mind flashes, hyper active, seeking
cold sweat suit coats her pores.
through the canyons of limbs
eyes wide open, adrenaline flash flood

whispers. fresh air on her cheek
she hears the night's song, wind
or stupid, stupid sauerkraut.
Pabst, ballpark brats and cheese whiz
refrigerator hum, empty without his
major, at the time). She hears only
the ancient Aztecs (she was an Anthro
in the morning about nothing, everything
they loved, fought, talked till eight
upon a time. In this house, these halls
he was her light, her knight, once
oblivion, void free of memory.
waiting for sleep, for blessed
lying there in the dark alone.

sweaty, restless misdirected
marathon. regret fills her
sheets tousled from un-run
in a broken in bed, half full.
the fat ripe fields. satin sheets
whys and why nots plague
dreamland. A locust swarm
sheep in the pasture adjoining
a better life. More maybes than
like they ran together in
marathons of ifs and oughts
her mind is racing, running
can't sleep, can't stop
alone in the house she

Lewis Carroll on the Economy

the time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things
of credit cards and default loans, and insider trading rings
of apathy and idiocy, and whether the fat lady sings

a glint in his eye, a lick of the lips as the walrus sells
false hope to his audience, trapped within their shells
fearful mollusks listen rapt, as he spins golden spells

Buddha belly earthquake rumbles, hunger never sated
The Walrus and the Carpenter, fault lines we’ve created
Fissures growing day by day, unchecked and deregulated

as the unwary little bivalves pay their bailout tithes
they don't realize that they are mortgaging their lives
waiting for salvation while on the cross they writhe

carpenter crafted crosses, forest in the background
there’s no road to perdition, no salvation found
just into the corporate crockpot, eaten pound by pound

gobbled down with a smile, and a dash of vinegar to taste
the walrus weeps crocodile tears as his teeth make paste
the carpenter reasons 'we can't let good food go to waste'

what a price the little clams paid to be saved
now gratefully accepting the yoke of the slave
happy they may be, live forever in their graves

Camera Obscura

Glass eyes tell no lies but only record
sins compressed by telephoto lenses.
Aperture admits as much light
as he chooses. No choice, no agency
objective prism, dispassionate voyeur
unblinking uncaring ever staring

flies flit about festering fruit
rotten, split guts spilt seeds
overripe blood oranges litter the field
falling amongst corpses posed
in the act of living. Paused mid-
scream, mid-scene, mid-

Slow death of a life imprinted upon
fast film stock at ISO two fifty.
When the film is used up so is he,
direct your own life efficiently.
Extreme close up, pupils dilate
Face to face with his own reflection

horsefly lands upon the reflection
of a killer in a dead man’s eye
one of a dozen sprawled amongst
the roots, died running – away, to?
From? Died running amidst
Falling leaves and special effects

Who would want to watch their whole life
again, and again and again? Could he edit
and make montage of moments
put conversation in static framing
shot, reverse shot, point of view subjectivity
continuity created, narration unrestricted

A dying man’s hand clutches, reaching
for salvation. Falls upon a fallen
orange, bloody handprint mars
the pebbled aromatic peel.
Coughs out his last words
Just like they were rehearsed

live your life like a movie
it was said. But what kind of film
would this mess make? Who
would want to watch me? He
says to himself, behind the lens.
Calls cut, and takes five.

A Rock In Midstream*

Cross legged contemplation of the
cows at the crossroads. The herd ambles past
eyes face forwards, heads hunched
not a glance aside, no thought. Unseen
oasis on the side of observatory drive
leafy, threadbare curtain drawn back
by winter snowfall levees. Quietly break
in the face of a flood inside, desires to
escape overwhelm one alone in the flow.
To leave the routine slipped behind the
curtain. Found a clear view of the lake
crystal, unbreakable transience
grounded and centered on a rock
crossed legs, closed eyes

breathe out
unfold heart, open mind
breathe in
lotus soul flowers
breathe out
banked coals roar
breathe in
fire heart opens
breathe out
embers grow
breathe in
petals reach
breathe out
nirvana buds
breathe in
cusp of heaven
breathe out
delicate balance
breathe in
unthinking being
breathe out

Rise again to the surface
flower fires fade
eyes open coals banked
finding feet to rejoin the herd
walking apart but still on track
amongst placid cattle driven to class
Buddha mind finds its own path

*This is a revision of 'A View From the Lake' - I will be posting several such re-writes in the coming week

Find

crafting the wind in marble
casting the breeze in stone
catching a zephyr in the moment
sculpting transience alone

raw and rough the rock begins
the sculpture starts undifferentiated
unworked, unmarked, uncut, simply
rock. and a blueprint in his head

and a chisel in his hand. struck
chips fly and chunks of white
veined with grey and green and
hues and streaks fall to the floor

delicate detritus litters the workshop
floor. the figure emerges slowly
rough at first, but lines begin to
take shape. limbs begin to

appear. revealed, created or found?
the stone begins to breathe. the shape
starts to shake, to live, movement
in the corner of his eye

he sleeps in the studio. constantly
aware of the eyes he watched arise
float to the surface of the stone, drawn
forth by the paintbrush chisel.

marbled whorls of color in his cheeks
life leeched into silent stone with quietus
just out of reach. peace
is the cessation of obsession

oblivion is the end result of creation
oblivious, he keeps on sculpting a son

No one ever knocks anymore: A Noir Nocturne

gum on the shoe of a man with a gun
         that and a nose for trouble, head for booze and eye for 
               the kinda girl who can make a crowded bar sweat
condensation beading on lips
                                         even the glasses can’t look away

in a red dress and heels she walks in
                                             what else. dames. every one acts like
she’s the first case walked in here all
                                           week. can’t remember the last time
head pounds hangover, lip curls to cut.

“Hey Dollface…”

but
        this one’s different
                                           she has a gun
                                                              too

hammer cocked back .38 cyclops wide primed against
     anvil of recognition. ACME printed on the side.
                   chest caves in memory implosion
                   Wile E Coyote flat in the wake
Roadrunner in red raises one black brow
       over
      those eyes
                          ice blue diamonds glitter

“you have the most beautiful eyes…“
in a sundress and a straw hat she poured cheap wine
seedy celebration for a job well done
wicked smile dances

well, never thought I’d see you
                again with the gun? you always had issues with
                                 trust me. I know what I’m

                         gun handle pole axe stun temple desecrated
            floored. fade to black. oblivion
     as welcoming a sight I have not

               seen the plates on the getaway car. feet staggered to
                              running down the dingy stairs, two at a time
                                          tires squeal, ignition catches. sputters

“stop it. you silver tongued….”
a kiss, a glance, frame a moment .
two thieves at the top of their game

engage. pursuit. not again you siren
          wails, screech, dodge the fuzz, speeding
                    to conclusions. she must have come

for the empty band of skin on a white knuckled hand on the wheel
for the fingers, so fragile. love is a femme fatale with a knife in hand
for the memory of better days, the broken knuckles of a brawler, a drunk, a

“A toast. To us. To the best thieves in this damn dirty…”
city lights wash out the stars but all he sees
diamond eyes reflect the streetlights halogen glare
backlit billboards set the scene

thieving witch, this is what I get. never trust a
     fool and his money, funny how cool the breeze
             clears the air. breathe in clean

she always did have nerves of steel and
                                            curves in the road betray how he feels
his way in the darkness, car parked a block
                   away she ran but tabs kept. bolt hole motel can’t run

gun in hand. gum on shoe. hands of a man who knows he won’t shoot

“here. I want you to have this…”
dive bar at 3AM, heads packed with sand, hearts full
a pull from the bottle, a neon love song
married to the thrill of the chase

just to see her one more time can’t trust my own mind
         can’t turn her in but oh through the
    window pane ballet, Venetian blinds broken

she looks at a glint of light in her palm.
tears fall like shell casings the last time
fingers curl, clutch like churls for lust

       woman in a red dress. legs to here and pain for years

“two halves, one heart. two diamonds….”

aquarium

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQBUjY-LK4Q


swimming in / aquarium
we can’t see / what holds us in

even fish / evolved to fly
we can learn / to touch the sky

blissful fish swish through the sea
listless witless kiss the screen
batter away at what you cannot see
transparent barrier made of screams

clear as glass / we barely see
walls around / hold in the sea

the city is / the sea we see
barriers / transparency

living in an ethereal prison
tangible invisible walls are prisms
we seek to break machine precision
cannot escape industrial partitions

acid skies / the end of time
come alive / don’t live a lie

free your mind / don’t be a slave
lets believe / don’t be afraid

but there is an exit in the sky
to be free one must learn to fly
fish have done it so why can’t I
gossamer wings made of lies

The In-Break

now that its too late.
it's all my fault, not too proud

i'm sorry, i'm sorry
and mix with the blood and memories
yolk spilled, smile fixed, tears flow
floor, coming from his head.
love intermingle with the blood on the
honeymoon. Memories of better days, better
it out together, in Nova Scotia, on their
examining when she struck. They had picked
the whalebone flute that he had been
in her hands. And a carving in his hand,
and she sits on the floor, with his head

forgiveness, finally, he came back.
he turns, eyes open, pleading for
Connects with the side of his head as
(as he tried to teach her so many times).
and swings, stepping into it
she steps into the room, hesitates.
no time to see what it is looking at
crouched unwary, unprepared, distracted.
a fear, a shadow, a figure, a cutout
broken glass. A shape silhouetted.
the fresh air. French doors, opened, no
can feel the temperature difference, smell
the house, something that should not be
to ward off fear. she knows someone is in
she slinks down the hall, weapon raised

memory now, time for action.
so boring and static). No time for
the game, tried to teach her. she hated it,
friend from the softball league (he loved
examined, approved. A gift, from his
door slides. over-sized bat retrieved,
bare feet pad velvet to the closet
sheets slide silently to the floor,
and she will not let it be defiled.
This is their house, was their refuge,
explanation, strategy, ideas, weapons.
mind flashes, hyper active, seeking
cold sweat suit coats her pores.
through the canyons of limbs
eyes flash open, adrenaline flash flood

windows. cold air on her cheek
she hears the night's song, wind against
stupid, stupid sauerkraut.
food now, no ham or pickles or
refrigerator hum, full of only her
major, at the time). She hears the
ancient Aztecs (she was an Anthro
eight in the morning about
they loved, fought, talked till
first. In this house, these halls
he was her light, her knight, at
oblivion, void free of memory.
waiting for sleep, for blessed
lying there in the dark alone.

sweaty, restless unused energy
marathon. Jitterbug, full of
sheets tousled like, un-run
a king sized bed, half full.
fat ripe fields. satin sheets in
whys and why nots plague the
dreamland. A locust swarm
sheep in the pasture adjoining on
better life. Maybes outnumber
like they ran together in a
marathons of ifs and oughts
her mind is racing, running
can't sleep, can't stop
alone in the house she

Sweetsleep

Heavy patchwork corduroy quilt drawn
Freehand in black ink, sharp lines and subtle shading
A sketchbook page, easily flipped through
Holds an image of a memory, transience
Captured

Sleeping on the couch he twitches in his sleep
Mumbles, turns, pulls the quilt up under his chin
Dreaming of days long past, days when we
Were young and carefree, with all the time
In the world

When a weekend felt like a lifetime and
Summers were never ending ladders up into the sky
climbing into music, friends, drugs, love
debating truth and beauty in pre-dawn
jam sessions

eyelids flicker, memories montage past
shutters close, a bubble rises to the top of consciousness
pops, memory released, summer night
all nighter, sitting on garage roof
stoned

staring at the stars, thoughts so scattered
free style rap with no beat and no rhythm, just kids
pretending to be cooler than they really
were. Wanting desperately to know
why

dream departs, memory returns to
subterranean swamp depths. Eyes yawn like lions
morning’s light falls on the page
sketchbook open to an image of a friend
waking from sleep

free soloing - rough

there is no pity in this implacable face
there is no mercy in the wind’s whistle
there will be no quarter in this battle

in one corner stands the skeleton of the world
great granite salient spires pierce
from the earth like broken femurs
protruding raw from shredded muscles
the champ stands eternal, defiant
proud peak with a winning streak
longer than he is high

and in the other corner is the challenger
an upstart monkey who cut his teeth
on trees. thinks he can, dares, to climb
one who was when those pines were kelp
this ape seeks to conquer time, to place
his mark as high as he can reach
stone smirks silently, confident

to tell the tale he scales the shale
stony whale with flukes and barnacles
he rides the great grey humpback
over a switchback, carrying no pack
just lungs full and tendons taut
muscles strain without a thought
mindless journey into naught

man meets mountain, it’s merely madness
to try to pierce the sky’s fastness
Olympian castle wreathed in clouds
Promethean scale and upward bound
in the ascent he seeks a sense
of worth unknown on the earth
rising higher rarely glimpsed heights
rarefied air and starlit nights
breathe champagne bathe in light
in the struggle he forgets to worry
lost in the journey, falling up
sleeps like just another rock

aqua vitae

smooth translucent sphere
reflective glimmering droplet
elongates trembling, bonds stretch
break away from leaf’s edge

splash on the mossy ground unseen
eyelids damn inevitable rivulets
lashes wet with weeping rivers
seeping from orbs of green
and white. riven with red veins of pain
tracery reflected in tear streaked cheeks

tear blurred visions cannot see
unbroken mirror stretching ahead
glassy coin amidst unending foliage
trackless explorer, lost and alone
last of those to claim the globe
fleeing from the forests wrath
flew so far no going back
home is a dream bubble popped

perfect ovoids obey gravity’s dicattes
slowly wash down cheekbone channels
draw pathways through jawline tangles
freefall past the forests edge
mirrored miniature globe falls forever
diamonds shatter when they hit the stream
symmetry splatters, casting grapeshot
all reunites beyond the mirror’s surface

the fountain of life that he could never find
he dwells on failure, wallows mire
golden circle in his hand
last token of god hood foretold by
prophecy across the sea
lost all to chase a dream

knifelike perfection cleaves the waves
creating shattered space in his wake
droplets fly, birds alight
wavelets radiate, no other trace

Lake Lynn, 1854

feverish furtive flight
in the watercolor pre-dawn impressionist mist
shifts misery swirls

concealing, revealing
sounds echo unmoored, unending, untraceable –
he hopes
huddled fetal free
escapism cloaked in smoke like dope exhaled
foxhole fugitive from the rope
feet pound pavement, pursuit confused, lost the scent over
running water frozen time skitter jitterbug the line

watch the needle dance over taut drum
dark ink dark skin barcoded

breathe mists occluding air fog twines fingers nappy hair

Hiding, providing
excuses embraces the erasures of races

records set stern as faces
serious like whip crack heart attack
fear the dog that’s never spared the lash

hobbled feral fierce
pain brewed stewed fermented decanted devoured
fires rage banked brown eyes
coals turn to wildfire
grow grumble ancient hunger
wet snout sniffs mosaic patterns through space and time
follow fear pheromones dark rich heady scent

manacles clink shiver shrink away
blood etched soul stained


naked back map
rivers of memory scar velvet perfection
princely skin ridges of punishment scourge
kindnesses reward




resting hoping
praying with closed eyes. dawn dreamed oracle

ancient branches spread
overhead spiderweb barren refuge
root throne self-made king


searching sniffing
snuffle whimper pant point rumble strain reach
chain tense leash slip
release

hoarse brays rend ears
years whip rends regal rags

bared coated salivating anticipation, hunts consummation

predator prey like two old friends meet again

teeth nails hair muscle wrestle paws hands

freedom instinct survival driver
brown coat black skin bruise throat eyes roll
bare breast. fangs leap.

jaws caught.
torn hands re-ripped life re-wrote
neck turns
eyes catch
lock
snap

back to collared kindness collared greens in cellar kitchens
brothers in servitude, sharing scraps of scraps
equally hungry, equally desperate

cold dawn remains
weeping runaway
weary rheumy eyes blink
frothy lips quiver. breath departs rattle leaves
fall breeze chills
goose prickles pickles black down
howl from afar
un-hung head drops. heels to hie
ever northward
through the mists

The Break-In

alone in the house she
can't sleep, can't stop
her mind is racing, running
marathons of ifs and oughts
like they ran together in
06. Maybes outnumber sheep in
the pasture adjoining on
dreamland. A locust swarm of
whys and why nots plague the
cornfields. satin sheets in
a king sized bed, half full.
sheets tousled like, after
the marathon. victorious,
fulfilled, sweaty accomplished.

lying there in the dark alone.
waiting for sleep, for the
sandman to bring her a dream
he was the sweetest thing, at
first. in this house, these halls
they loved, fought, talked till
eight in the morning about the
ancient Aztecs (she was an Anthro
major, at the time). She hears the
refrigerator hum, full of only her
food now, no ham or pickles or
stupid, stupid sauerkraut.
she hears the night's song, wind against
windows. cold air on her cheek

eyes flash open, adrenaline flash flood
through the canyons of her limbs
cold sweat coats her pores.
mind flashes, hyper active, seeking
explanation, plans, defense, weapons.
This is their house, was their house,
and she will not let it be defiled.
sheets slide silently to the floor,
bare feet pad to the closet
door slides. over-sized bat retrieved,
examined, approved. A gift, from his
friend from the softball league (he loved
the game, tried to teach her. she hated it,
so boring and static). No time for
memory now, time for action.

she slinks down the hall, weapon raised
to ward off fear. she knows someone is in
the house, someone who should not be
can feel the temperature difference, smell
the fresh air. French doors, opened, did
she lock them? Light from the study.
a shape, a shadow, a figure, a body
crouched unwary, unprepared, distracted.
no time to see what it is looking at
she steps into the room, hesitates.
and swings, stepping into it (as he tried
to teach her so many times).
Connects with the side of his head as
he turns, eyes open, pleading for
forgiveness, finally, he came back.

and she sits on the floor, with his head
in her hands. And a carving in his hand,
the whalebone flute that he had been
examining when she struck. They had picked
it out together, in Nova Scotia, on their
honeymoon. Memories of better days, better
love intermingle with the blood on the
floor, coming from his head.
yolk spilled, smile fixed, tears flow
and mix with the blood and memories
i'm sorry, i'm sorry
it's all my fault, not too proud
now that its too late.

lewis carroll on the economy - rough

the time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things
of run on banks and interest rates and insider trading rings
of why the economy grows not, and the pains a meltdown brings

a glint in his eye, a lick of the lips as the walrus sells
false hope to an audience trapped within their shells
and the little ones listen rapt, willing prey to his spells

Buddha belly earthquake rumbles, hunger never sated
walrus and the carpenter, demons we've created
as the be-tusked, be-vested fat one pontificated

artificial scaffolds grown silently in the background
building a fire pit and spit on which to turn around
cooking up the fat of millions, eat us pound by pound

as the unwary little bivalves pay their bailout tithes
they don't realize that they are mortgaging their lives
waiting for salvation while on the cross they writhe

gobbled down with pepper and vinegar to taste
the walrus weeps as his teeth make paste
the carpenter reasons 'we can't let food go to waste'

what a price the little clams paid to be saved
to end up in the belly of a pair of knaves
happy they may be, live forever in their graves

the last flight of the cicadas

Seventeen years after the world ends
The shadow blasted earth will shift.
Skeletal trees will give no shade
To the last emergence of life
Hideous larval grotesqueries churn
lifeless ground gives birth to legion
Final cycle circling in the ashes
Spread and cover every dead surface
Bereft of predators or sustenance
One last bittersweet melody shall play
Cicada concerto in the wasteland

No one to see chitinous exoskeletons
litter the sidewalk like shell casings
Discarded templates reflect gray light
Translucent remnants of a hundred
Thousand Houdini transformations
Cover the fissured, scared, broken
Earth that was illused, illtreated
Carapace shed, antennae unfurl
Sticky ichor coats wax wings
Shimmer like glass, fill the air
Ancient, multi-faceted eyes regard
Barren ruins devoid of life,
Crawl through deserted playgrounds
Rising tide washes empty theatres
Pale ancient angelic insects
Fly through leaden skies
Consume ashes and dust
The final cicada’s wing
Flutters one last time
The song ceases
silence rules all

Camera Obscura - rough

Glass eyes tell no lies but only
record sins hidden behind long lenses.
Aperture admits as much light
as he chooses. No choice, no agency
Just unblinking uncaring ever staring
analytical, dispassionate observation

flies flit about festering fruit
rotten, split guts spilt seeds
overripe blood oranges litter the field
falling amongst corpses posed
in the act of living. Paused mid-
scream, mid-scene, mid-

Slow death of a life imprinted upon
fast film stock at ISO two fifty.
When the film is used up so is he,
direct your own life efficiently.
Extreme close up, pupils dilate
stage-fright immortalized

horsefly lands upon the reflection
of a killer in a dead man’s eye
one of a dozen sprawled amongst
the roots, died running – away, to?
From? Died running amidst
Falling leaves and special effects

Who would want to watch their whole life
again, and again and again? Could one edit
and make montage of moments
put conversation in static framing
shot, reverse shot, point of view subjectivity
continuity created, narration unrestricted

A dying man’s hand clutches, reaching
for salvation. Falls upon a fallen
orange, bloody handprint mars
the pebbled aromatic peel.
Soldiers live and wonder why
The voiceover narration declares

live your life like a movie
they said. But what kind of film
would this mess make? Who
would want to watch me? He
says to himself, behind the lens.
Calls cut, and takes five.

bleak by squiblur

And we are coming
Coming to bring light to this bleak bleak world
And we are coming
Coming in through the sounds you heard
And we are coming

Coming in through the door with a gun in hand
Don’t you understand this is a smash and grab ‘mam
And don’t say damn just hand over the cash
Jewels and china don’t start to whine or raise a fuss
Unless you wanna fuck with us and get religious
Like close to god and far from earth
Even though your heads in the turf
Similar to assault these words attack
Aggravated battery of guns go crack
Firing off rockets rising bills like stack
Now watch your whole world fade to black
Squiblur takes over handle cocked back


And when the wobble fades out there’s always satyre
Man in the corner mouth dripping hot fire
Rabid beast unleashed rages pent up desire
Wolfman makes his stand in a bed of sand
Shifting world betrays his stance
Ends up in a heap before your glance
Falling down like its part of the dance
Shrinks back to manchild heart still size wild
Gaze seeking escape from this cage of style
Can’t see the light in the midst of the pile
Wood all around can’t see a single tree
Death all around who wants to be free
Eyes face the ground or flee into glee
Running from dreams we hardly can see
I think that my dreams are talking to me
Do they tell me true futures late at night
Or do they show me a world where everything’s right
Idyll where my heart spills so free
Real world where my blood is black oily
And my veins pump acid on the daily
Heart hides away behind walls and screens
Truth dives away swims beneath sea green
Inhale escapism just to balance the beam
Exhale hope so bright it gleams

last flight of the cicadas - rough

Seventeen years after the world ends
The shadow blasted earth will shift
Skeletal trees will give no shade
To the last emergence of life
Hideous prehistoric grotesqueries arise
Final cycle circling in the ashes
Spread and cover every dead surface
Bereft of predators or sustenance
One last bittersweet melody shall play
Cicada concerto in the wasteland
If there are no ears
To hear it, will it make a sound?
No one to see the cicada carpet
Cover the fissured, scared, broken
Earth that was illused, illtreated
And when the last cicada’s wing
Flutters for the final time
The song will cease
And silence rule all
After the last flight of the cicadas
Ends

Post-Industrial Love

Factories are dust machines
Churning out the end of dreams
Future mortgaged on the assembly line
Killing ourselves just to kill the time
like hey buddy pop a pill or snort a line
Inhale candy to feel something like fine
And dandy
finding love in whatever’s handy
or close to hand we don’t understand
gotta rise gotta stand gotta raise a hand
like stop in the name of love
before you break a heart or fall apart
reclaim the brain don’t go insane
be careful where you light the spark

breaking news we got thoughts on the loose
shedding chains to steal the golden goose
beanstalk thoughts rise through clouds of confusion
climbing so high to slay giants of illusion
elusively allusive I curse in cursive and steal purses
jack it and flip it, stack bills and tickets
to see these magic beans drip from my pen
thousand seeds for a thousand sins
pay these bills with a thousand grins
pearly whites excusing slights
flashing lights seen through the fog
pierce the smog invest the madness
inhabit this time and banish the sadness
lose the self on the edge of being
teeter tooter on the razor’s gleaming
ride your reflection up into the stars
set your course for foreign shores
dive into the mists in search of more
jump off the cliff with a spliff in hand
carefree freefall fall down downfall
swim through the air like underthere
so wet like insider her underwear
and girl relax let down your hair
just want to relieve all your cares
just between us these cats are squares
lets go get bent curved quantum entagled pair
just flee with me up the down stair
case in point you got me upside down
always turn my head around
eyes in the back of my head look funny
rear view vision's always twenty twenty
now i can see my missed chances
dissecting a thousand sideways glances

view of the lake mk 2

Walking down observatory drive I glance aside
There’s a spot that the eye seems to slide by
Threadbare curtain of leaves drawn back by winter
Snowfall levees hold, break before a flood
of memories, washed back to first days at school,
Overwhelmed by experience so raw and new
feeling the need to leave the routine
escape the beaten path, turn away from the lake
Slipped behind the drapes and found a window
with a clear view of the lakeshore, path and forest

Grounded and centered I found my rock
Crystal bubble, unbreakable transience fleeting
Cross my legs and close my eyes
unfolded heart and opened mind
Lotus soul flowers fed
by inner fire coals
tongues breathe
embers glow
petals unfurl
nirvana buds
cusp of heaven
delicate balance
unthinking being
my
thoughts intrude again
Flower fires fade away
Open my eyes and bank the coals
Unfold my legs and rejoin the herd
back on track amidst the mass
Standing apart but still on the path
amongst placid cattle driven to class
Buddha mind rises above my stress

I rarely get back to lakeshore these days
But I’ll never forget my solitary zen rock
whenever shit gets tough or I think of quitting
I can slip out of the push, the grind the bustle
Sit down and contemplate the beauty of a moment.

Breathe out my cares, dark heavy thoughts
Breathe in the air, crisp cold draught
Breathe out insanity, breathe in clarity
Breathe out taught, breathe in naught
Breathe out wrong, breathe in song
Breathe out, breathe in

view of the lake

Walking down observatory drive I glance aside
There’s a spot that the eye seems to slide by
Threadbare curtain of leaves drawn aside by winter
Snowfall levees hold, break, flood with memories
When I first came to school I often felt alone or bitter
Overwhelmed by experience so raw and sensory
One day I felt the need to just sit and be
So I wandered off the beaten path, away from the lake
Slipped behind the drapes and found a window
Clear view of the lakeshore, path and forest
Grounded and centered I found my rock
Big old stone on which to park my rump
Cross my legs and meditate
Close my eyes and learn
Open my eyes to see the sky
Open my legs to rejoin the herd
But while I was alone in my unseen hideaway
No one ever seemed to look my way
Eyes always faced forward
No time to look aside and smell the roses

I don’t make it past Bascom too often anymore
Rarely have the time to sit on the lakeshore
But I’ll always have my sideways sitting
Never forget my little zen rock
And whenever shit gets tough or I think of quitting
I’ve learned that there’s a way to stop the clock
To sit and appreciate the beauty of a moment
To live your life like it was a sonnet
Slip out of the push, the grind the bustle
Sit down and contemplate my hustle
Breathe in the air, crisp cold draught
Breathe out my cares, dark heavy thoughts
Breathe in nature, breathe out nurture
Breathe in life, breathe out strife
Breathe in free, breathe out me
Breathe in, breathe out
Be

Eternal beats vibrate below my feats
Bigfoot sound tremolo between the sheets
Hear the scream of yesterday dying
Tomorrow born without even trying
While right now sits in the corner crying
Time’s at war with meter and rhyme
Scheming brew of hazel and thyme
Bitter taste so sweet the lie
Burning hotter than soap and lye
Every omission a log on the fire

Permission to burn yourself on a pyre

Phoenix mission: always rise higher
Reborn in ashes birthed to die
New morning lights up the sky
Remix the song it ain’t a crime
Pure fire gleams through the grime
Newborn sun takes off flying
Incandescent dragon spiraling
New cycle recycle upcycling
Build it brand new and concrete
Got more soul than a thousand feets