Wonder

Blacken'd are the years,

with every day that past

swift as the solar winds,

evr'y day I sit here under the stars

and wondered why,

at rest, climates wander...

even as the hands of time play

revolving 'round the Daisy's dial

the glitter behind closed eyes

shewn the way,

lost,

like dreams in repose.

Oddly Familiar

Fling away...melting like wax

another day

flows down the drain

still

like oil to water,

we sleep in the same bed,

as the anointed portion of our love

pour down the rocky cliff

congealed

in the empty spaces,

like some forbidden fruit,

wet with anticipation ripened and red

soon the gentle breeze fits our mood...

'cause the darkness drifts like smoke,

all the weary legs, all the weary smiles,

lost in the drums...

Sweet like honeyed dawn,

embraced in something oddly familiar,

satin drenched in sweat

trailing out into the bedroom floor

like molasses,

on a pin-drop sky.

Streaks Follow

Fell, fallen in to the lake,

by the window, frozen on the mirror

an image of the snow,

stained like ancient silver,

it's warm enough by the fire,

dying embers burst like fireworks,

stare, gaze unto the bottom

quickly look away, and

the streaks follow, like sharp knives

of gold on the horizon,

One more drink, and it's off to bed...

With our arms entangled,

arrested in the sheets,

like photographs stuck together,

too long in a dusty old book,

The ground seems to swell...

Ten Faces

Dripping wet in the misty morn,

ten faces at the bus stop,

with 7am so sure on their brows,

another day ahead...it was supposed to be

sunny

they said...

but here in the winter fog, ten faces studied one another,

one was clearly possessed:

with twirling keys in a tight pocket,

jingling and jangling - surely up for promotion...or worse..

Another reeked of the corner tavern:

one-dollar cigarettes and Old Crow,

it must've been quite a night,

stationed at the bar like a moth to flame,

certain glances lost...another fantasy revealed,

in dark eyes...

And then there was the girl at the end of the line:

a slave to the vine,

asleep in her mind, you could tell -

with a faint smile, the golden warmth of her sheets,

betrayed a silver lining -

the low scream of midnight was nothing compared to

a seat at the overlooking the breath of dawn...

Ten faces stood together, better left anonymous -

so soon to be raised again like fire,

let's meet here again tomorrow!

Tupelo Street

It was the last house on Tupelo Street,

and the blood-red sun dripped upon

that gleaming white picket fence surrounding the yard,

looking just like jagged teeth...


A most curious fellow stood by watching passers-by,

as they made the most of the late summer day,

some waved as they went on their way - others ignored him completely

still unaware of the odd twinkle in his eyes,

like the first star you see at twilight...


His elbows rested, callously

upon that fence...

spindly hands and fingers - streaked with the green

and brown from digging in the dirt - were all tangled,

like a crown of thorns...


He looked straight through me,

with a stone-faced stare that would have frozen

a lake of fire,

soon I felt those sickly eyes,

trace the edges of yard, and back again

as if surveying a new kingdom...


I lay awake that night, till but a few hours

before rosy dawn, wondering and wondering again...

deep and dark were the waters of doubt,

but the alchemy of anxious curiosity drove me instead...

...into the back yard of that unusual fellow...


With no silver moonlight to tread on,

I met my destiny at last -

following the sounds of what seemed like

an old man snoring, but it was not like a breath -

no, it was a rhythmic, a swaying sound -

a sawing sound now...curious still, but now,

now, now the fear beat about my brow,

sweat streaming, colder than a witches tit...

I stumbled in at last!

With my breathing fresh and fast,

my heart froze at the sight before me;

gnashing teeth, and ashen limbs

looking much like those gleaming white picket fences

earlier this afternoon, the old man was not snoring,

but sawing away gleefully!

The faces of the fallen lay all about,

and I fell too...

another addition to the garden...


When you see the Spring roses bloom,

lush in red and orange, and spotted white petals

entwined in the tendrils of morning glory,

wrapped about old tree trunks...

 you'll see me too, from time to time

just behind that old house -

on Tupelo Street.

Picnic at a Funeral

Truly the nascent flowers play,

upon the treads...the narrow grooves of imagination ,

scattered on the supple winds,

in colors, reminiscent of banners swirling in the breeze...

It's quite sunny now, a heavy warmth felt on the tops of weary heads,

maybe noon...

the procession tramples on, over cobble reminders...

not yet broken in two, the eye's have it -

yes, we're all dressed in that blank canvas...

all faces in union, remembered to the blue skies,

tears down an alpine nose...

I place a flower upon the years I've been alive,

and the the rest in the grave...

Let's just rest by this stone,

a bottle of wine and wheel of cheese,

celebrate the divinity of our being...

because you don't really know when it's all for keeps.

Father Christmas

Corralled in the silver snow,

Invisible towards the crimson streamers flown,

Entropy, drenched in the memories of time,

Dripping wet, in the jungle's steam,

No changing of the season,

Just a smile and a wave, as we pass upon the stones,

It won't mean much the next morning,

Here in the chaos
city streets, electric..
...another face in the crowd,
our moods, just another vaunted spike,
barely registering on the cracked screen,

All we can do is marvel at the glowing buttons,

Keep pushing, mash them together, like dough....
till you win the fight.

And...RESET.