Neco AvisThe birds preach:"empathy, all thingsbeneath the arms of oaks;all the wingless toilers of the earth.Turn a kind eye on your lotand we will gaze down upon you,approvingly."And the men beneath,so busy carving arrowsdo not reply.
StonesTake your time, intravenously;like patient stones that never trybut polish overas other shapes pass.
Give Up, SomeOur intentions slipped quietoutbeneath the doorto let love run freein the dusky streetslike some wild killerjust out of jail.
Remember, OhDeja; like the taste of iron, suddenly and soft, unprovoked laughter [ c o l d ye llo w c ur ls ] and you,with love between pressed pageslike a gun in the top drawer;there was a lioness nipping at my collar bonebut she never comes home anymore.
Per Alius NominaFingerpainted post-traumatics strung up god's eyesspun and twisted little comets ; sad young things thatlearn quick how you
One LessT i cks are a consistent bed partnernot to be confused with the humming of ceiling fansor the thrumming of cardiologist fascination not to be mistaken for the soft exhalation of company in tangled threads or pallid flesh;certainly they are similar and quiet audible reactions can drown within each otherbut if you listen
Arthouse FearIt struck softly; as though epiphany itself were unprepared and thus not committed to the impact - which did nothing to reduce the shock.I was living in a studio with windows that were really mirrors that faced inward only all of the reflective surfaces were melting so that one was shown a bent, macabre version of the world within, which seemed a fitting commentary until the surfaces began to splinter and like a cannon or a child's baseball words came tumbling in with the sour air, the hollering streets and the scrambling masses; words like so many well-mannered gents into the grand opening of an art gallery in which every piece portrayed a terrified child cowering from wolves of a clearly phallic nature.All at once with the air and the streets and the masses I could see and understood - as though the punchline of "us" had been reached and I were frozen there, in the moment just before laughter, living the lives of every bleeding heart with raised hands nearly compressing in applause
Of Poets and CosmonautsThe astronauts we abandonedon the finite expanses of blasted whiteriddled the empty withstark black lines and sharp curves letters built from letters and mailed home shipped by ship to our rockthey said: "we will not mine your pagesdrinking deep of sadness,with only these fleshy suits to tether us to a universe of terror."
Paint ThinnerLove is a parade of flesh knit with daisieslike a single pine freshener strung up in some grungy meat lockera universe of nouns an' vowels an' verbs could never wash the smell of rutting homo sapiusour affectations area sadistic "fashion noir" show minus the clothing
November25th 2015 (Crow's Call)The blackbird calls outHarsh and unyieldingly loudRinging through the mornI shake my head at the soundAs my feet rest on the floorIt’s so cold though CrowI don’t want to have to goAnd put on a showBut you won’t let me stay hereDriving me out to the snowYou can be a real jerk Crow
LifeLife is quite simple,but we humans insist oncomplicating it.
Katuatagoing out with herwas like World War One, exceptit was over by Christmas
.hangman, could you showme the ropes? i'd rather doit all on my own
.i take my spoon, crackthe sky like a creme brûléeand the light flows out
.i wanted to bathein fire; for the amber tonguesto lick me clean, pure
.listen to your heart;it is the one that knows bestof the inner dark
.what doesn't kill youcomes back with something strongerto finish the job
.it was when he calledme 'sweetheart', i just felt liketearing his one out
True and HaikuArt is lingerie;silk and satin draped uponour starving egos.