equestrian undividedI have bedheadequestrian undivided in Free Verse More Like This
but its not mine
the frayed ends of a serrated
homeless box with french postage stamps
the flaps held by my thumb and middle finger
like silkworm whiskers.
it asks me what I see:
pocketed cherries like rouge on mildew
or the truncated door stop that stultifies
the shadows like a dog-eared book.
this is all that is left,
eyeshadow rhetoric slumps between the jugular vein
and the train tracks to germany
fecal mercenaries silenced by ungual fleets
deaf to all but Iron Age chants.
my body is built upon the highland moss
pelted by gryphon stunts
that nail me to an eclipsed pond ridge
cold as white coal on a roasting spit.
we used to harvest the vowels of wet earth,
mooning over the vertebral shapes we could make
with the molted river bed
tucked into my wooden chest.
you read my mind
as I curdle in your shire-breadth,
retinal fibres like neurons between siamese twins,
transept of hoof and hand.
my self cloven in a vestal pith,
trumped by breed to employ
89You sold my house89 in Free Verse More Like This
w a s
chilled the kings until they fled
river-side, Aphrodite perspiring on the hood
of my daddy's chevrolet.
Sea Foam, hot! and and
chipped paint dentistry. cups of holy
cups crowned rookie bishops told too late
we're saliv-atin' and Gabriel always fades
into Rembrant's chalice-breast, begotten grey stallion,
sifting messes by lumps of sugar
the canes harvested by Children, O! child, don't tarry long. . . .
You may just find a home a calling a cross a road too soft,
where Nero waits.
bibleblack predawnshe quiversbibleblack predawn in Free Verse More Like This
a spent arrow in the bible homelands
where everything looks like an overbaked potato.
the wet clusters of leaves hang like bagworms
made from the gargoyle bathtub hairs
that catch twitching insects
with their sequel claws.
their trails leave a fibre garden
of clothe petals and nickel roots
as the night passes like a wounded horse,
a messenger from God turning
the sidewalk clockwise, seven revelations.
her voice is a caterpillar,
only responding to mothwing equations
scribed into the pantry dirt
of bark and gothic centuries.
lights out, child of mineshe wakes up to the sound of white bottlecaps shifting weightlights out, child of mine in Surrealism More Like This
like the boughs of a taciturn ship
only to realize thru bedcovers
and forgotten colours
that it was just her vacancy sign.
she hugs her knees to
the nausea that slithers along her major organs
bedposts and wire springs that construct her waking life
and now perturb the numbers in her head.
the streetlamp outside her window is
just a metaphor for something she shouldn't read into
but always does.
jettison cigarettes on her marline veins
more the colour of phosphene scarlet letters
like the one only Nathaniel Hawthorne could rectify
and she could embody.
stop. stomach wails won't be pacified.
through roundabout monkey knots and cheshire directions
she breathes in singsong tongue-lapses
. s t o p
avifauna villahis feet are bare and openavifauna villa in Free Verse More Like This
herringbones of pentecostal bracken
like two birds frozen in the nest;
a nametag is lashed upon his breast,
wilderness homely and pure,
his praline token unsung
as he works it like a moat
churning honey pinwheels
that hibernate between inlets
in the heads of children.
names turn their faces, like the shaken joy
of turtle dove couplets.
only subsidiary bodies-
pebbles shamed into the grey-belly well
like beasts with bloody noses
can keep from sinking
from his geometry of words,
steely discuses oxidizing on the tongue
in nematic anchors.
like the tree that snaps the boulder, schisms
diluted and starry-eyed
by the river's throaty sheen-
the tension has a fissure, a wall of brick he must devein.
the mountains clap against the soles
of an evening gleaned from taxonomy
tinged letters, the tips budding s
pull yourself togetherMy father, is a dying man.pull yourself together in Free Verse More Like This
He hoists me up onto his workhorse knees,
slow like da Vinci's model pulley system,
and I watch the room slide past.
I am never able to get over the fact
that while I move, everything else
I can feel his compact bones
beneath me, a picnic table birth.
I trace his flesh as my flesh, pictographically
committing his sighs and sojourn smiles
to memory. Because I know he is a man-
woe shades the arch of his brow and
the clefts of his hands,
the truth in his resignation.
I have the same style of falling as he;
we both found this out when he read
Mother Goose to me.
Humpty Dumpty is my favourite,
and I request it like a Veteran war story,
noticing him wince.
He is dying, my father, because he is a man,
and men need a reason to say goodnight.
Time lays at his feet
like a bloodhound weary from a hunt,
and now content with a hot supper.
But sitting on his penitent lap, I worry my lip
and wring my hands, eyes downcast to the vacant floor.
"You'll always be her
two left feetyou move like a gaggle of geesetwo left feet in Free Verse More Like This
with no seasonal direction
and your arms
are cat tails by the Nile
waiting on the next love song
from the sea.
hips and legs are gunny sacks
plump with crumpled paper wads
and you are about as well oiled
as clothespins pursing their lips to wool.
but every time you fall,
I think of wine and silk
christening the moment
like flamenco porcelain seashells dancing for me,
just before I catch you.
mustang vervetakemustang verve in Free Verse More Like This
the flesh of grief
whistlin' dixielinger on my tongue for a whilewhistlin' dixie in Other More Like This
twanging those sable dirges
as I lull back
called down, bluebird style through the hush:
a fugitive Kilroy, tendered and tart.
as burl woven weary and coarse,
the lullaby dresses my senses
in gruff wheedled barks,
fogging my palette when it drags me
like the passion of Rhett butler,
bearing me from squalor of Dixieland stairs.
decrescendo burgeoned with a million
quartered infant hearts
gliding up my thigh, nestling as a thunderhead
into my belly. Wake-darkling, don't leave me,
resigned to wildfire among lilies and artichoked sparks.
savory, so rustic true,
the timbre tumbles
it is wearing me,
the last wall of Jericho
found nursing at its supple door.
flushing grey, my lips do chap, whetted on the distance
from scored rabbits' feet hung round the psalms of slaves
like pied piper wishb
with all your crooked heartSome memories are paperthinwith all your crooked heart in Open More Like This
with bitter roots in salving soil
your petaled head is biting the wind
but the dust comes up to meet it.
Notice how you're holding me close
and how empty they are
you're holding my clothes
but I'm not there with you.
this desire wasn't in our hips
but in the vast confinements
of our minds
it really wasn't worth our time
we never shared a kiss
so the worst of our crimes
was that you left
and never really said goodbye.
Sometimes it's crystal clear
that our love was a result of our fears
but the roots are sweeter bitter
while we're riding out of here.
She talked to AngelsHe took the back roadShe talked to Angels in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
out of Midnight in town
He took the high road
never touching the ground
she talked to angels
and He was never around
she talked to angels
is pulling up on the floor
and all these pick ups
are running out of his door
she talked to angels
and he was talking no more
she talked to angels
When the city sleeps
he gets up in his yellow jeep
looking for the sunshine in the Midnight
while the city dreams up
angles in the times He spent
out wandering the sleeping town of Midnight
He was looking for the angels
in the backside of the road.
He followed star dust
and it was leading to life
He wasn't dead but
he wasn't really alive
He looked for answers
in the backs of the roads
while she talked to angels
she talked to angels...
she talked to angels...
Faded whole I'm ready to jumpFaded whole in Free Verse More Like This
-from the roof of the belfry
feeling the sin of separation
the chill of fading flowers
as they devour the snow
two candles light
for death (your life)
for you and me
one if by land
and two if by sea
as you rest and return
by sails of purple
through daffodhil oceans
by truth I feel in love
- with your sorrow.
Death is a rider
and I ride her white horse
clinging to her empty black robes
you stop to smell the roses
A Perspiring Incantation It was a long way to the witchs pandemonium, a long way to the witchs cathedral and years always leave me by the time I summit its peak. Even as I travel the river Styx into her fangs, I wonder how the witch would appear this time, having met her many ways through the reoccurrences. Sometimes, the witch presented herself as a relic, her squall shawls bundled about her in stitch briar patches, strangling loose ends that stippled her image. Sometimes she appeared as a kindly neighborhood crone, the kind that bakes cookies for little children. Other times she would appear as a mountain-bound Baba Yaga with harrowing eyes and fury flagrantly displayed until rumors of her insanity became her trademark illusion. Her most unnerving performances yet were when she appeared an innocent child.A Perspiring Incantation in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Motionless, my stoma
Russian RouletteThere is still a single bulletRussian Roulette in Free Verse More Like This
in the chambers of my heart
but the safety is propped
in a never fire condemnation.
In the narrowing hallways,
guilt detains guilt,
clogging up blood vessels
We begin to eclipse
but as the capuchin told
we cannot replace the moon
with shadows (,we are) of stars.
In the dreams of the symphony,
My saxophone love, unrequited.
The notes still had more soul
than viollain soloists, falsified.
this act of seven gears
for every time the bullets fired
our lingering regrets could not
keep us from keeping the gun.
This is a growing inclination
but we gave up on our dreams
you made butterfly constellations
determined to be more than a moth.
In reverent palpitation
on a six chamber stage
we play russian roulette
to find one to set one free.
Give War a ChanceOnce more a lightening in your eyes,Give War a Chance in Open More Like This
sparking generous flames in the downsized
potholes in a soul's guise, a topography
relays the defenses of your mind,
and the blaze that shines from
a thundering marching of the heart.
To the hands that weave
a history trembling with
nerve wire expectancy,
with a changing of sands,
and the creation of stained
glass windows to look through
to learn through, to live through.
A moralistic wave to meet
ends, means a destination,
a destruction or creation and
the internal battles initial
for truth or the nearest
and so we tell the vagabonds
to give war a chance
to give war a chance
to give war a chance.
theoretical layersand the snowflakes that hide behind our eyes,theoretical layers in Free Verse More Like This
as we compress them to close, melting around our hearts,
dampening a too exciting feeling, falling on a cedar tree
from whence we fell, laughing, and I think perhaps
a one-sided heart cracks its own eggs open.
The stones themselves enunciate their praise,
and all, we, tremble to bear upon their steadfastness,
a chivalrous guard against a whiling wind, dead
in a despairing song, tumultuous and contrary
to our living claims, and it is as silent as its name.
I concern over the state of our campfire
as you feed it your life, as it hungers all the while,
as we thirst all the more for the rain to quench
our dirty throats, as we only feel its warmth
as it only takes our own.
and these snowflakes that rest beneath our eyes,
frostily gathered in the corpse of a gaze, understanding
the overstatement of a name that fits as many feet with gloves;
those were the acts that play in the mind's eye,
and quintessential to the tongue, perhaps.
none more exper
Smoke Treadsso I heardSmoke Treads in Free Verse More Like This
you like to make mudcakes
only to dust them off
and hide the stars
behind a telescope
their far flung beauty.
and I tasted
with your baring breath
some wood grains on
shaved down cancerous
and grievously festooned;
to rest a thought upon
and you are
a ghost beholden caulfield
an ordinary teen, born
a scream that emanates
charged from a mother's lips
generation that reeks of freedom
all the whirlwind
sees in its eye culminates
to one final grain of sand
a universe revolve around
you; we laugh, but only because
at the fear of never going home.
beingI like being wherebeing in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the air is saturated
with your very own.
The heart must understandSo let me think straightThe heart must understand in Free Verse More Like This
of all the memories of dreams
I couldn't write down
before the morning comes
to chase away my hopes
of chasing rainbows to the ground
and while the oceans
wait for me to sleep
tomorrow creeps up without a sound
these distant melodies of wanting
waste in tomorrow's misty shroud.
So help me once more to recognize
the truth behind the morning
when darkness fades to darkness
as the clock ticks hours 'til the dawn,
wrapped in the snowy covers
of obsessions that I eagerly pawn
for a few blankets of misplaced love
that I'm knighted for, resolutely
avoiding the image of confidence.
I think the heart must understand
the words the mind could not pronounce
these half-thought riddles
echoing your dreams;
these hopes you can't denounce.
And as the clock replays the final scenes
of yesterday's remorse,
and as tomorrow's misty elegance
runs its meandering course
how can you live in hollow shame
and take the morning's grain
and drink the dew of dissonance
and suffer your own d
Exile"Exile"Exile in Free Verse More Like This
The sound of her voice was
his music, mute of syllables
singing of his banishment
from the grace of her words.
He gathered sleep from the
shadows of her breasts,
keeping himself to a dark niche
within reach of her perfume.
Keeping her in his sight
as he began to pleasure;
when had she known?
He imagined a
much younger time when
she could extract
milk from the stars,
when she first offered a cup
to his lips, trembling from
kneeling on the cold foyer tiles
of her regal domicile.
Now, there he was
reduced to a vicarious act
though the sight of her
the upward spiral of
pale smoke from
the snuffed candles
by her adorned bed...
never taking his
quartz eyes off her
and her fertility
was all the adornment he desired;
he, a pebble in the garden
needed no pillows or curtains.
His nostrils filled with her-
was it narcissus, or osmanthus?
All he knew from that moment when
the agony of his passion ignited,
was hearing her voice sing
Loverswe became loversLovers in Free Verse More Like This
from a key stroke
any other way-
as if it were
by match strike,
melting the scrim of snow
that clouded our days-
by a single letter
and then another,
taking us there
as each descended-
touching down where words
spark and conceive
at the right time-
and so it was
'til it no longer is;
how we came together
from a stanza and a rhyme
Remembering TrainsI recall how as a childRemembering Trains in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I'd walk the railroad tracks,
surveying the soot-covered ground
in search of Morocco and Spain.
I'd lie prone across the wood ties
to hear trains roll from miles away,
feeling them in my belly.
If I had pennies to spare,
I'd place them along the iron
and rush back the next day
to claim the flattened treasure.
I remember a late summer
when humidity was thick in the air,
lightning arcs lit the night,
riding the rails down the line.
So startling was the crackle
that flew in a shower of sparks
rivaling the 4th of July.
I loved the rumble of three engines
hauling a full load of boxcars.
The moans they made from the weight,
and the slow journey up the grade.
Sunlight flickered through the
wake of smoke passing overhead
as I walked behind the caboose
waving endlessly to the watchman.
So it is, when the night is still.
I hear a plaintive wail as a
train calls from afar.
I warm to the memories, and I answer.
River DreamWhere I existRiver Dream in Free Verse More Like This
the seasons linger
or die too soon
I cannot see
the subtle changes
or hear the cadence
I feel the shift
and taste the residue
between our lips
and on the air
it also lingers
will bring the rain
but I covet him more
suspended as we are
between the seasons
and when the dusk
is touched by
the brows of moths
he will walk away
of autumn's end
before it has begun
while I drift
a river dream
a new moon ascends...
an oar dips silently
and I shiver
Haikuthon July 1-31, 2009Haikuthon July 1-31, 2009 in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the hope of
summer rain vanishes
a neighbor's dog
to water the roses
heat wave chasing
all the birds and blues
from the sky
a cloud of gnats
a child's sno-cone
the petting zoo
old mission archway
black birds napping
in ascending order
lunch at the beach,
and wade into
looking out to sea
the sky walks a fine line
7 haiku renga
on the breakwater...
fishermen and gulls
under the pier
bait in a plastic pail
holding their breath
still seeking shade,
mating crabs in the shallows
the tang of sea air,
rot of a morning's catch
in my nostrils
the old sea dog
with his mutt
scans the boardwalk
at crack of dawn
jellyfish in the
seaweed washing ashore
beyond the breakers,
and a buoy bobbing
sailing into dusk
White StainsTalking quietly about issues of the day,White Stains in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
not thinking ahead or of any of their names.
Drifting side by side, on his bed as they lay,
two bodies sprawled naked, without aims.
Sunlight refracts in the skylight overhead,
the day spent wiling away hours he disdains
when lovers are between passion-filled bouts,
and devour all evidence of white stains.
It is she who in turn will reach and touch him.
She smiles as he visibly jerks as if in pain.
His head rolls to one side so his gaze can meet hers.
The light grows golden, then dim as the sun wanes.
Bodies shift and the hour is their friend it seems,
while the night changes course, keeping time bound in chains.
All around is their world filled with heat and their dreams,
and the truth of their love, that they loved. White stains.
OrcaA gutted ship's hull lists,Orca in Free Verse More Like This
dragged into a roiling sea
filled with blue-glass shark fins,
leaving entrails of fever through
depths of eternal night-
the oil-slick surface
shifting mottled moonlight
on coral reefs calcified against
the leaves of bodies that drift by,
sinking, to disappear into
canyon fissures deeper than the
shadows of heaven can reach-
pods of whales cruise overhead
giving off their eerie cries,
baleful orgasmic moans
as they claim their take
from the debauch of a hunt.
The moon reaches its apex
over the battlements...
deceptive silence belies
the solitude of a killing
during an orca night.
Best Of - Senryu Style1.Best Of - Senryu Style in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
fat and content
with its short life
dogs in the park
dressed for the runway-
a barn-sour horse
highway stretches far
but not far enough-
at the zoo
sneaking a grope
by the python cage
in my mailbox-
catch up on gossip
not a single egg
or raccoon left
Shibari Haiku RengaShibari Haiku Renga in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
my weight settles-
shadow on the wall-
a sapling's quiver
herons take flight
the rope master's
work of art
Skin DeepShould we pity the poor young pelican?Skin Deep in Other More Like This
Red in the face
a balding sequence of ambivalent metaphors
This is a strange fragility.
A comic evanescence
of stocking feet
all laughter and wonder
You hear this alot
no gleaming cup
for the non-technical among us
Its all narrative really.
A false swan wedged between
multi-millionaire pretty boys.
Im having second thoughts
They have declared war
on sexual ardor.
It is a very simple game.
Such violence is tribal
With so much ugliness,
when will you ever get a chance
to do something personal?
Were not going to the moon now.
I am a child again,
the roots of plain function
Gather me into the sunlit gyre of pelicans.
First of MarchSnow everywhere. I never would have believed it if my kid brother hadnt dragged me, one armed, from deep in the mattress.First of March in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Wide-eyed, I watch Georgia transform into a Tibetan world. Ravens silent huddled in stillness. Willow branches bent to the root. I want to hold this image, paint every flake the way Buson did. My journal is in the back seat of the car.
all of heaven
in the creek bed
3rd Grade ZenToday, my little brother managed to catch an anole. Mud-green, flabby - I can tell this is one of the old ones. Cupped between life lines, the ancient reptile doesn't even struggle. He just sits - eyes sealed into wrinkled sockets.3rd Grade Zen in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I read somewhere once, that the Daoist masters had no need to fight. When confronted with danger, they simply willed themselves to disappear. Today though, it's too hot to wait around.
"What do you think we should name him?"
"No names buddy. Time to let him go."
spotting a tail
in the crabgrass
Tanka Series 91.Tanka Series 9 in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
carving melon pulp
from the rind
the last little mess
of your memory
at the university
the last red condom
up all night
friends and I trade tanka
from a distance...
same old spring frogs
in the creek bed
just when I've learned
to move on
your electric green socks
in the bottom drawer
at the amusement park-
one by one
skipping stones race
from an old lover
for the man I was
five years ago
tv ads promise
"Increased Penis Size!"
in fine print
a few words
on liver failure
a photo of Dad
in his varsity days
that I would only inherit
from all humanity
this rusted hubcap
covered with weeds
in a single wave
my old neighbor hums
old sword masters wrote
at dawn, a few
Autumn Saku Series1.Autumn Saku Series in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
cloudless noon we debate the gender of God
alone in the field
the phone line rocking
the beggar jangles
his change cup
the cubicle office
work day over
the scarecrow's shirt
leaf clutter at his gravestone things I never said
the teenager paints
miles from home
news of her cancer
in stage 2
the bike race slower
leaving the canoe
world hunger report
I turn the potatoes
a second time
city dusk now and then a starling
my grandmother finds
the groundskeeper steps
the Jack O' lantern carved
with an overbite
at the general's feet
a beer can
the widow circles
a singles ad
the trashcan glowing
the evangelist returns
with a pie
Winter Series1.Winter Series in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the winter compost
100 miles away
my grandfather's ashes
the janitor vacuums
a second time
his street name
on the skid row wall...
a commercial selling
the sound of knuckles
of a raven's cry-
over an ex boyfriend
my little sister
on the ways of men
the beggar eyes
a gingerbread house
through her breath
in the pack rat's nest
overcast on every poster the same child
nothing to discuss
beyond weather reports
than our summer affair
the storefront Santa
in a fire lane
a spider drops
leaning one way
New Year's morning
my father combs back
on the frozen trail
The War of EvolutionTorcoroma Holy SanctuaryThe War of Evolution in Open More Like This
At the core
Virgin Mary sits
in a tree root.
Her curving beak
gives the illusion
of an enigmatic smile.
So now the big question is,
"Are the dead to return"?
So many researchers
are divided over
Neanderthals and God
Were it not for hot spots
in the top layer of
the ocean's surface,
most of us
would be swimming.
Summer Renga1.Summer Renga in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the beggar receives
my brother adds wings
to the chalk dragon
all six hands
of the hornet
mountain pass coyote eyes in xenon
wraps the sky
a photo of grandpa
the sleeping toddler
her sundress dips
from the cornfield
another man's shape
in the darkness
a week of clouds-
my sister paints her nails
the magician makes lunch
Senryu Series 41.Senryu Series 4 in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
faking a call
to avoid the wino's
passing a porn shop
we talk straight-faced
fired from work
a warm welcome
from the clerk
the new boss hums
we settle for
Autumn Haibun 1Its early morning and Atlanta is gray with rain. Already, downtown is crowded. Corporate suits and street vendors drift to their respective trades.Autumn Haibun 1 in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I am on my way to Mary Hall's Freedom House, a box of soggy donations in both arms. I pass an old black man sleeping by the Marta station. He is wearing a shirt that reads "I Am The American Dream." I reach out to wake him, then decide against it.
so useless now...
all the clever quotes
Death Comes HalloweenDeath Comes Halloween in Horror More Like This
Robby dashed to the next house with his skeleton mask bouncing on his face. He turned to his friend, Max, who wore a striped shirt and an eye patch.
Hey Max, if I get more candy than you, I get a shot with your sister, Cindy.
No way, dude.
Robby pressed the doorbell as he rocked on his toes. The door began opening. He shouted with Max, Trick or Treat!
Hi, fellas, an oaf of a man said. Hold on a second.
Robby stuck his head inside as he waited. Max grabbed his shoulder.
Leg SnatcherLeg Snatcher in Horror More Like This
Jimmy hugged the door with his ear pressed against the surface. He listened to his parents argument. Their voices sank to a whisper then rose accompanied with the sound of slapped flesh. Jimmy smiled, trying to make out all of the words. He didnt understand half the words, but was still proud.
His fathers heavy footsteps approached the door. Jimmy jumped back onto his tippy toes and flipped into bed, trying to keep his eyes shut, but not too tight.
The door swung open and smashed against the wall. It bounced back, making his father slam it open again. His father scrutinized him. Jimmy didnt have to see what he looked like; disapproving eyes were weighing heavily on him, and thoughts were being scanned to find a reason to hurt him again.
Honey, leave him alone, his mot
StrottenvilleStrottenville in Horror More Like This
Gregor woke with a fright. The sun hadnt risen yet, but there was no reason not to get an early start. He stumbled to a mirror, still wavering on his feet from the gin. In the mirror, he saw a man who didnt want to live. His beard had grown unevenly, and his hair hung down to his chin. He forced himself to pull away from the reflection and geared up. As he turned the lights off in his apartment, he grabbed a stale piece of bread out of the trash and ate it quickly. No one was awake in the early morning, instead they hid in their houses, praying to God and trying to pretend the nearby towns didnt exist.
Gregor entered his car and sped down the street. The houses were mostly abandoned, and left with unkempt lawns and boarded windows. He slowed the car as he approached the freeway onramp.
Bran! he shouted. Cardboard b
Scum Like YouScum Like You in Transgressive More Like This
Robbie sat in class, but his eyes looked inward to his mind. His face wasnt soft like the other kids. His eyes didnt bounce around the room, they penetrated the distance. The teacher talked about cell division while Robbie thought of Anitas upskirt from the other day. She had stood on her desk and danced. He wanted to devour her whole. Robbie looked around at the other kids. They laughed and talked with dumbstruck faces. He knew he was better than they were, and that they didnt deserve the right to be in his presence.
The bell for lunch rang. Robbie walked outside to the long, wooden benches. He sat alone. He didnt have a lunch and didnt care.
Robbie watched an Armenian kid whose posture was the likeness of Frankenstein. His limbs moved, but never bent. A stupid grin lay on his face. His hair was wavy and alw
Purple WingsPurple Wings in Horror More Like This
The creatures purple wings flapped and banked corners, appearing as a mere shadow from its speed. The streets below had people walking the night. Store signs blared their fluorescent colors, bathing walks and buildings. The purple-winged bat trained his piercing vision on a passerby in an alley. He carved upwards with his belly on the wall, and flapped, descending with tucked ears and pointed feet. The passerby looked up and saw a long shadow coming straight at his eyes. The bat figure deformed into a humanoid shape as it crashed into the man.
The impact left the man in the alley smashed into the wall with broken, hanging limbs. The skull was destroyed - brain matter obliterated. The now transformed figure sank fangs in deep, drawing blood with fervor, unmindful of splattering blood. He filled his need and casually walked the streets, hands in pocket, eyes wide and jubilant, ears peake
Body HorrorsBody Horrors in Horror More Like This
Ed walked on the side of the road in his bomber jacket. School had ended and the sun was setting; it bathed the world in its last orange rays. Eds life had finally tilted upside down. The many years of ill thoughts tainting his senses had made his brain into a warzone. He dressed for coming war with society. Every step with his Nazi boots was determined and full of hatred.
The cars sped by so close to him that he could feel the wind suck him toward the street. He found himself leaning towards the cars, liking the near-death experience.
The suns heat made his brow heavy with sweat, his eyes squint, and his forehead crinkle. The sleeves of his jacket stuck to his forearms. The safety pins holding the sleeves together were irritating his skin, tearing it in small red lines. His sharp, gelled bangs crawled into his eyes, blocking out th
MansionMansion in Horror More Like This
I laid back as the drops splashed into my eyes. Unmoved, I dared the climates to drown me. The mansion ahead of him looked daring and colossal. "It's a fine establishment", I found myself remarking. I looked down at my drenched, sobbing clothes. "This won't do", I said. Slowly, I backed off the perimeter and began circling the place in a quick run. The wet soil grabbed my shoes and soiled my clothes with mud.
I looked to a window and saw a red-headed girl. She wore a loose white dress that reached out, creating distance to anyone who talked to her. I pondered curiously at this while the rain continued its onslaught. All I wanted to do is watch. Her freckles spread across her face and neck, unfettered from her body; they appeared as stars. The corners of her mouth were tucked up in an obviously sad, forced smile. I began to grow weary of the cold rain, but refused to abandon my post.
DeltaDelta in Horror More Like This
Nails chewed through his face. He grit his teeth as his flesh flew away. Hammering down on the trigger, he gripped the muzzle to realign every shot. He watched his enemies fall while walking past them. With no one else around, he held his radio to his teeth with the same death-grip and piercing eyes.
"This is Delta. The perimeter's secure."
"Copy, Delta. Retrieve the ghost."
"Copy, en route."
A weight clasped onto his shoulder and a knife dug inward under his throat. Red lines followed by a red cascade rushing down his suit. Delta grabbed the knife hand, ripped off the enemy's gasmask, spun and sank his gun into his eye socket and pulled the trigger. The blade launched out of his hand and slid across the floor. Delta's eyes rose, following the spinni
CoriganCorigan in Horror More Like This
Rising to his feet, Corigan stumbled out the alleyway. His bones creaked as his legs straightened into a walk. People walked with their eyes fixed on him, their mouths contorted, and eyes full of disgust. His eyes spun in panic as his hands crawled up his arms. He tucked his head down and raced back to the alley while pulling out a long-stemmed pipe. He lit the flame and the pipe dropped from his hand as he exhaled a silver string of purple smoke. His eyes glossed over as his mind ripped away from reality.
Torne GraveTorne Grave in Horror More Like This
A purple haze coated the night. With it came an aura of paranoia. It flowed through the air, attempting to blanket the night.
In the earth of the grave plots, burrowing through the soil, a snake slithered upward. It sought a coffin and gnawed at the wood. In its box of eternal slumber, the corpse did not flinch. The snake unhinged its jaw, clamped over the head, and tore the skull free. Bones crumbled apart, leaving twisted fragments along the outer scales of the snake. The creature swam to the surface and emerged. It slithered through the graves, shimmering in the moonlight.
The scales inverted, forming flesh. Fur grew through new pores and hands extruded out with massive dark wings. He flared his wingspan and shot himself into the night.
That HumAs I look at her, with her beautiful honey hairThat Hum in Free Verse More Like This
my lungs feel colder than my head. With each bruise
the cr-creak at my feet grows louder and louderan dlouder
and that void filling hum in low lectric tonesss -
if I had arms to hug, or ears to hear, I would
I would definitely
fall in love.
Under the BedPapa! she calls. Through half-closed eyesUnder the Bed in Free Verse More Like This
I try to focus - so tired. My lips move by themselves,
mumbled words slipping softly Yes, dear. Im here.
Papa! Come fast! Its there!
My feet shuffle automatically as I enter her room. Looking around,
the corner is empty; so is her closet and under the bed.
Honey, theres nothing here. Yes there is! It called my name!
What does it look like, dear? I sit, trying to understand.
It got black eyes, and mustache, long teeth and hairy hands!
Speaking hisses, go - rawr! And its still calling my name
Does it hide in your closet? No
Is it under the bed? Does it jump, blowing bubbles,
speaking French, clapping hands?
Papa! shes angry. Thats not funny at all. A monster is hiding
and its dark, and its tall, and its scary and mean! Papa,
One Day NewsMrs. Shahar calls this a classroom but we all know it well enough to be a bomb shelter. Thirty small naïve eyes stare at a beautiful journalist on the old television, long brown hair and expensive suit. She reports that a terrorist blew himself up in Beit Lid junction, just a five minute drive from our school. It happened at the big bus station, gray and dirty for so many years, so close its amazing we didnt hear the blast. Although its frightening Im not afraid at all, just glad that there wont be any more classes today.One Day News in Biography & Memoir More Like This
The camera focuses on her make-up, curly black eye lashes and powdered cheeks. "Four people died," but all I can hear is "no math homework checkup." She says "authorities are still withholding names," and I hear "no math homework tomorrow either." Then she starts telling the whole thing over again, all the little bits of information the route of infiltration, the name of the bomber, a description of the ar
JourneysBrown charred eyes strolling wistfully downJourneys in Free Verse More Like This
ancient roads embedded with Jerusalem stones.
Stale mildew-scent of young memories rests
against fresh baked bread on moss covered walls.
With slow stiltish steps, an aimless jaunt,
thoughts drift back to small precious things;
marble words rolling down flushed cheeks.
I Caught a ButterflyI caught a butterfly, colored green with silky wingsI Caught a Butterfly in Free Verse More Like This
which was not afraid, but that was mean. Such a human thing.
Delicate being, was not meant for glass made jar,
still it flew around, a couple of times, just to flaunt, and thus
I shook that cruet, to let it soar, just a little bit nothing more,
felt like such a brute. Still not sure though why,
cause how can you tell one delicate butterfly
colored green, with silky wings, that its the most
The Scent of Lilacs Shopworn stones atop fresh moist dirt; how manyThe Scent of Lilacs in Free Verse More Like This
kids dug-in filthy handed, searching for treasures
or building castles. Pink pinched cheeks we attempt at
reliving our childhood; more beautiful with each a passing day.
Each day - nothing is the same.
They grew one day; out of spite, resentfulness,
paper rolled memories-cigarettes burn. You said -
you always said - it's all too messy. How can they
let them grow, with their pale purple crowns and their gentle pride worn,
above all that dirt-digging?
The scent of lilacs fills my chest with remorse
no brown-sugar curls, pearl teeth, aluminum eyes
So beautiful each day. They paved cement layers
over brown-black soil in only one bare night with their shovels
and by morning it was gone.
To hell with them stones, all those neatly carved shapes
green grinning plastic grass covering mud in its
elastic punctuality and cold bright shine.
No more the prattle of October rain, hitting thuds against
thick raw mire each day the s
EverythingSoft rustle of dead leavesEverything in Free Verse More Like This
follows bristling breeze;
stillness frees necessities
in a melting blushing-sun.
Sweet bells slightly tinge
Colombian, freshly brewed,
set aside on an oak-made taboret.
Sweat, as real as love,
gently cool by giving-in.
Nothing, as it seems.
FreedomPour me a glass, David. Slightly stirred, squeeze a lime.Freedom in Free Verse More Like This
Rest it on the stool and sit down,
imagine theres no such thing as Time.
Ease up, let it go. Theres nothing, I said
nothing we can do. For its true,
you know it too, last night they killed him
today were through.
I close my eyes, son, imagine that
There were days my lids were softer, yet
today I see no need for sleep, and there they are -
as soft as silk. Shes there, son, yes,
I see her now. All these years we struggled, how
fast things move once you realize
theres no need to analyze
Relax, dear boy, here take this glass.
Youre old enough, forget the past!
In few seconds we will breathe at last;
in time well meet again, at rest.
His MemoryI was too young to remember;His Memory in Free Verse More Like This
maybe I still am.
But somewhere hidden,
under layers of wax,
it still burns.
Blue Ceramic BowlBlue ceramic bowlBlue Ceramic Bowl in Free Verse More Like This
rests on our table
where the oak-salver
used to sit, piling
dust for ever.
Blue ceramic bowl
made of our lustful
sins, decorated by our
tears and smiles
of so many hours.
Blue ceramic bowl
is where we hide
the miscarried child
our son, Oriel.
Blue ceramic bowl
filled with shame
and the trivial carving
of your name.
It rains six days of the weekThe sky touches itself at theIt rains six days of the week in Free Verse More Like This
waist, and bows sunlight through my window.
A week of washing its floors, until
finally we are clean enough. You
slept and I touched my eyelashes to
your shoulder, which rose into the air
like a tiny mountain.
My worst nightmare:
you are walking away
and my voice is not even a telegram.
I ask where you've gone and they reassure me-
you unraveled in their hands,
trailed out of the window,
too fluid to gather.
Yesterday, upon waking,
you mimed goodbye
over the covers.
Your arms tightly at ease, looking like
you slept somewhere you weren't supposed to. If love is
jealousy then I suppose
I'm upside-down with guilt. Even
on the top of my head,
I could read you, like a newspaper with the
ink still wet and morals
drying on every page. We
were laughing as I kept
gravitating towards your open mouth,
half-afraid it would take wing
and fly from the room, already black
It rains six days
out of the week. No one is
bending over for us, anymore.
Playing for closureStanding by the stairs,Playing for closure in Free Verse More Like This
how I met your parents midway,
going up to my room, them
in their hands
a wonder that I, later,
also found in you.
Your mouth moving
in quick laughter. Our looks
like notes passing across
a classroom. Then one day-
How can I describe it, it is
as if I inhaled deeply
and found no air willing to come back out.
I hung up your shirt even
as your body narrowed itself away from me,
like a closing eye.
At least I got it
so there was no black or white,
no chessboard to end
our game upon. But prevailing
logic did not bring us back. We
walked away from our
shop windows, until you became
a mannequin that
I could not dress, an idea
with a three-month expiration date.
emotional egoismin my swooping indignityemotional egoism in Free Verse More Like This
I will take what I can get. They figure
me blind as a bat, those
sonars before telegrams,
faster than desire.
these evenings were
made for the avoidance
of falling. we lay
close to one another, pretending
to reorient gravity.
the floating stars are hard
to see beyond the soft
pollution. suddenly it
made a difference whether I
could feel God
trembling to untie a mask
I never wore. how I
ever neglected the air
against my hot, sticky face
I cannot say.
Q+AI will never be able toQ+A in Free Verse More Like This
be a good lover
because I can't answer
"Why are you sad?"
I am currently
inside of your left elbow,
questioning the ways I
long for your flexibility. We
are two unequal sides of a triangle
but I don't know where the third one went;
we can't even take a proper shape. If I
have to look at you one
I think I might die. The masochist
in me really likes this.
"Oh, you know-
My dear, you believe in
a heart that
takes to the air. Whereas
I am devoted to
because everything underneath
is just ducking for cover.
Evolutionwe are seven sundaysEvolution in Free Verse More Like This
slept in and shielded
from the blood of morning. I
look at you and do not feel
if this isn't evolution,
then the world must
be as flat as your voice,
sliding across the floor
to land at my feet.
ape to man,
man to genius.
genius diving back
underneath the covers, scorned
by productive algae. I hold these
the same way
you ask me to hold my tongue.
always wanted a man
to stalk my notebooks to the
ground, pounce on my leg
to read what I scrawled
on the underside of my ankle.
some people have giraffes in our spines.
they stand and stretch,
ready to hijack the thorny trees.
while we are rolling
out of bed, they have already
opened the eyes, the knee joints,
and then the mouth, to survival
on the eighth
day of the Lord,
I leave you to the lions.
Getting nakedI forgot to put makeup onGetting naked in Free Verse More Like This
this morning. Wrestled with the idea
of running back to my room for it,
instead stayed put and thought
about being naked. You can
be naked on your face. And on your
liver. Naked on last night's leftovers. People
who say they want to look better naked
are just trying to compensate for something.
It rains, and I like to think it is
the sky disrobing unrepetantly
onto my hair and cheeks. We
are its afterbirth, stagnant puddles
upon the ground. When I think of
the word 'stagnant' I picture a man who
will never whisper white nothings about
pomegranates into my neck, skin
dropping away from oxygen. But where
is my mask? You
are underneath so much these days
that there seems no need to cover myself
irony of the dyingwe stay awake,irony of the dying in Free Verse More Like This
the alignment and
dissembling of our bones
the worst way to die
is unchristened by
let us make
over me and the
spine of your old church
I pray to
integrity, as if honesty
will save me from death,
and I will never
lie beneath this earth
and I hold your hand,
the way some
learn the methods
of love, the discipline of hope
through the squinting
black pupil of a shotgun
interested eye of
death reminds us
of what it is
What we produceI am handedWhat we produce in Free Verse More Like This
smooth red skins
that slide off
to wrinkle like an
must hold them
the weight suspended
of me like
polluted world, beautiful
in its own withering
two syllables would
like a mouth
refusing to eat
so I carry in
the produce, their
and put them away.
I Hope New York Does Not Sink-Open, theseI Hope New York Does Not Sink- in Free Verse More Like This
arms like elevator doors
aggravated too many times
by the pressing of a button.
The dark breaks in through my curtains
and I am looking at a stranger
the way I never do on the train. Each day
is sun and jeans and aching licking at heels, traveling
around the ankle, throat
much lighter than kneecap, eyes
wider than my stride.
The first thing I
learn from the city is why
my posters keep falling off the walls.
They are colorful and expressive, but
do not know how to cling
to that which sustains their brightness.
We are seven blocks off broadway
and the traffic is spot on. I am
five minutes ahead
of exhaustion, until I deposit
my breath onto my bedcovers and
sink my steps like ships into the carpet.
Bouyancy, you see
remains a theoretical state, until suddenly tested
by the weight of daring.
WaterI did not say my name onstageWater in Free Verse More Like This
because you knew it,
too bright for me to raise my eyes
like a white sail at dusk. A scattering of
words washed upon the shore.
It was cold, later
when I drowned my own tide
in another storm, riding a terrible
beauty that I knew you would never
absorb as beauty. On the stage
I was trembling, wondering if
you would see it. If you did,
you missed the river
running through my voice,
down across the room, trying
to wet your toes.
But you are dry laundry, the Sahara desert,
your hair looks best fluffy. And I am
trying too hard at this water business.
NamesNames in Free Verse More Like This
An isolated, winding gimbal floats along
The medium between my lips and your ears—
A tidy pouch
That clutches every thingness in a beaker
And distills it to comprehension—bare minimum,
Square root of Singularity,
Strong like a newborn's headbutt,
As typical as José or Steve, Haruko or Kristin(a).
Ripe, merciless overcoats of crushed purple velvet
Find their way to me
In a bargain-priced thrift store.
They carry faces, names.
Intricate carvings—stones, shells—set in relief on
Technology as old as pants—buttons, Cameos.
Style ŕ la mode.
Cameo is a nice name for a girl.
Annelise Tomoē is what I'll name my daughter,
If I have one.
She already will be and will have been mostly American—
The "new" American—Part French Canadian, Part Mexican,
Part Amer-Indian, Cajun, Japaneezian Asian,
Caucasian (slash) Aryan.
Almost any 'un can make a contribution,
And has, or is about to.
Things to Tell Your SonThings to Tell Your Son in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Drugs are bad for you,
unless you really need them,
in which case, trip away.
If you want to catch a fish,
you must first swim a mile
in his fins.
Loan sharks will take
an arm and a leg, so
invest in prosthetics.
School thy feelings,
because nobody will hire
without a GED.
If a girl hits you,
that means she likes you--
unless it's with brass knuckles.
Don't make a habit
out of avoiding pain.
It will make you strong.
Bad poems might impress the chicks,
good ones will impress themselves
upon your soul.
Pharmacy Help DeskPharmacy Help Desk:Pharmacy Help Desk in Free Verse More Like This
The Poet's Handbook to Prescription Drugs
Thoughts--from a poetic addict--about life
as depicted through various prescription drugs,
while working as a rep
for a mail order pharmacy
and prescription benefits management firm.
For tablet identification,
and claims research,
select from the following options...
PHD: AmphetaminePharmacy Help Desk:PHD: Amphetamine in Free Verse More Like This
One need only learn Adderall's generic name
and further discussion of poetic significance
can only devolve into snickering fits.
A drug called amphetamine
is widely used
and highly successful
at treating ADHD.
Dying Changes EverythingClouds and pearly gates,Dying Changes Everything in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I dream of sailing
into the west.
Dying Changes Everything--Dying Changes Everything-- in Free Verse More Like This
Dying Changes Everything
Learning to speak Renoir sunsets
with Cézannese grammar,
waking eternally, the short sleep past,
to sunrises heralding the new Jerusalem,
the citrus tang of always young
in the verve of always life.
Sailing into the west,
the sun also sets, finds its light refracted
through tears shed from ducts of clay.
atones for the laws of physics.
Taste the thirsty amber-pink
soaking behind your eyelids,
melted reds and oranges
osmosing into your fingertips
henceforth and forever,
PHD: OseltamivirPharmacy Hep Desk:PHD: Oseltamivir in Free Verse More Like This
When nausea is a common side effect
of an influenza anti-viral,
how can you tell if it's
the flu or the med
making you throw up?
PHD: Anti-Infective ABCsAnti-Infective ABCs:PHD: Anti-Infective ABCs in Free Verse More Like This
Azithromycin, Boceprevir, Clotrimazole
I dare you to imagine a worse fate
for defenseless bacteria
than to suddenly find yourself
unable to create protein.
Tender mitochondria instantly
eviscerated through once-firm outer membranes,
beautiful in their translucency,
now putrid, leprous, porous.
PI, protease inhibitor, oddly appropriate.
Through thousands of cells
whose structures advertise "friend,"
to investigate more closely,
a magnifying lens on a sub-cellular level,
and to throw a wrench in the assembly line
just for kicks. Protease Inhibitor,
a PI with a devil-may-care attitude
and a knack for solving the case,
to the chagrin of the complacent white blood cell.
In addition to interfering with
fungal metabolic processes,
it also interferes with
steroid synthesis in humans.
Just for kicks, I manufactured and sold
injectable fungicides to MLB players
I once worshipped
in my innocence.
Close the Contentment GapIs it possible to have more than one trip of a lifetimeClose the Contentment Gap in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and then take on my next canvas?
Shed the suit and pitch the pumps.
Take on my next canvas
with a perfectly naked nail.
Shed the suit and pitch the pumps--
your dreams miss you.
A perfectly naked nail
notices feelings of fullness.
Your dreams miss you
in a matter of minutes.
Feelings of fullness
close the contentment gap.
A matter of minutes
knows no such thing as "too close."
Close the contentment gap--
the sudden disappearance of worldly cares is our pleasure.
There's no such thing as "too close"
in the bathtub.
The sudden disappearance of worldly cares
makes everything cold in December.
In the bathtub,
there's no passport required.
Not everything is cold in December--
No passport required
for more than one trip of a lifetime.
Sleep so deepBy the bustopSleep so deep in Free Verse More Like This
a man in a crusty cowboy hat
yells at his dog.
“you don’ wanna seeme mad!”
She does not want to see him mad.
His purple duffle bag
is the filthiest plum
squashed upon the pavement;
Jack Daniels musty voice
staggering and hollering
from the canvas.
Later he’ll glug from
a plastic bottle
wheezing bob Dylan
But when his jug is gone
he’ll let that bitch have it;
kick her so hard
she’ll forget to yelp.
And when his Reeboks
hit the ground
he’ll curl up next
to her mangy bones and sleep.
Sleep so deep
someone might steal his shoes
if it weren’t for that goddam dog.
Your LoveIn the beginningYour Love in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I stood no chance against your love,
It grabbed me by the throat,
tickled my sides till I lost my stomach.
Your love was well muscled and fearless
like a tiger or a boxer.
It didn't smoke cigarettes
or eat red meat
or take drugs.
Your love played marbles with the stars,
turned oceans into deserts,
used men as toothpicks
Eventually though it began slipping.
It was the little things at first:
cold showers to warm showers
steroids to protein powder
cut-offs to turtle necks.
Your love no longer flexed in front of the mirror,
demonstrated it's terrible strength
in violent and innapropriate public displays.
It was as if your love had started smoking weed,
had shrunk to a housecat
or a golfer,
slow moving and indifferent.
Your love grew thin and pale,
dyed it's hair black,
smoking rolled cigarettes.
The end came when I arrived home one night after work
to find your love puking blood into the sink,
crying, tearing out chunks of sticky blac
Him and HerThey walk ahead of meHim and Her in Free Verse More Like This
almost holding hands,
a puffy red heart almost suspended
above them in a conjoined dream cloud,
and I almost stab it with my cigarette,
send it sputtering and whining into the night.
Tomorrow while I'm taking out the trash
I imagine each of them will be dictating
love letters to a friend, each planning their ascent
and subsequent colonization of the other:
she'll teach him to wear deodorant more often,
take off his socks before they go to bed,
while he'll convince her Hemingway is a saint
and Emily Dickinson is Martha Stewart.
While I'm rinsing off a spoon, running the garbage disposal,
they'll be on the phone together, waltzing and necking
in the darkness of speech, holding hands, swinging trapeze
on the telephone lines.
They walk ahead of me, each
swirling and swooning, tumbling into
and filling the other without touching.
He is the Atlantic, vast and dark,
she the Pacific, easy and warm.
I am Lake Owens
or Lake Ossipee perhaps.
Perfectly good water,
untitled2On the weekend the 9 to 5'ers areuntitled2 in Free Verse More Like This
set loose into town, allowed to stretch their legs
under a sun, see and be seen
so that Monday and so forth
they may dream in substance
while they forget and are forgotten.
For the lucky ones,
Saturday is a trip to the candy store, a sweltering July morning at the Zoo
before the impressionable body is convinced of its frailty,
learns to grow onions from the armpits,
fall asleep under perfectly good sunshine.
Sunday is the Sundays of their highschool years.
In the Morning it might as well be Saturday,
and at night it might as well be Monday.
And then it is.
On a wrinkled piece of toilet paper
accidentally sent as postage
from Folsom State Prison to a bewildered
grain elevator operator in Owensboro, Kentucky it is written:
"If time spent planning is directly proportional
to the likelihood of success
I might actually be able to just
walk out of here."
Amymy childhood is a small girlAmy in Free Verse More Like This
with short black hair
that never smiles.
She laughs sometimes but
it is a bittersweet laugh,
like old love letters
or pictures of dead dogs.
She drinks fourties
and smokes cigarettes,
sometimes two at a time,
drives around town with total strangers,
gobbling cough medicine, scribbling haiku
with tiny yellow pencils she steals from the library.
She has no friends, or rather two
girls who say they are, but in fact aren't
Sometimes when I'm drunk she'll gets these ideas,
and shes spaced as well,
and she'll come to my ear and whisper, " Lets run away"
" No", I'll say.
" Lets run away"
" I can't"
" This is killing me", she'll plead.
" I'm sorry" I'll say.
Then She'll furrow her brow, fold her arms, turn around.
" You smell like alchohol", she'll say.
" I know." I'll reply.
Piano HeroSomeone is playing the piano.Piano Hero in Free Verse More Like This
I think it's the little boy next door.
He's playing Mozart on cocaine
or Mozart on diet pills
Playing Mozart like his piano is on fire
and his mother won't let him off the bench
until he finishes that song.
That kid can't be more than 10 years old.
I swear, these kid's brains
are half human, half machine these days.
Too bad we pretty much only use one side,
I thought, closing the window.
Smells like RainA day for coatsSmells like Rain in Free Verse More Like This
A day for swinging on swings
if you have someone to swing with,
laying in bed if you have someone
to lay in bed with.
A day for huddling under storefronts,
smoking cigarettes with strangers,
watching rain tumble and spill
down rooftops like music.
A buzz hangs in the air like pollen
as if there is a parade today
but there is no parade.
A buzz like you get in your head
when you become excited about something
then forget what it was a moment later.
A buzz like the sky is humming,
tapping it's foot.
At about 20The sky is dead grey sea today,At about 20 in Free Verse More Like This
its feathered fish gone
to wherever birds go
on a day like this.
No Greedy beaks snatching crumbs
from under cafe tables.
Its a mess without them
really; the birds I mean.
I've got a little weed
but no pipe
a couple dollars
but no one understanding enough
to buy me a beer.
(The bums it seems, like the birds
have found warmer fare.)
An old man walks past me
into the cafe, and a colored girl
holds the door for him; he doesn't thank her.
I give him the look he might have given me
had he seen me pull a bent cigarette butt
from an ashtray and stick it in my mouth,
which I'm about to do here
in a second.
MagicThe Bells splash and whistle.Magic in Free Verse More Like This
The Piano saws itself in half,
implodes into a butterfly and lands on my shoulder
and my heart is still beating.
Tell me this is OK.
This is OK.
The Bells splash and whistle,
tangerine sunshine bursts through the blinds
naked, licks my face up and down
and my heart is still beating
I don't even have to try.
You don't even have to try.
The bells splash and whistle,
a black hole swallows another galaxy
as a dog barks outside
and my heart is still beating.
effortlesslyI'd like to give this all I've goteffortlessly in Free Verse More Like This
before I go,
not pull any punches
on this life character.
I'd like to dive and twirl into death
like monarch butterflies
and the stars
I'd like for this
to be easy and beautiful
because the flowers
and the rain
and the sky
sing to my heart
that it can be
I'd like to join the universe
in cosmic orgasm
and quit my job,
fall in love
I'd like this
and for you
and for the other things
and die for nobody
but themselves, because
this is our kingdom,
and we are all kings.