InspirationConcertoThe Day You LeftA Lost Trail of ManhoodThe Stainless EyeThrough ReedsWalking the Eclipse (Sequel)The Still of the WhiteThe Silverado HighwayInspiration
Formless blisters out of my tongue protrude as if glass words are confessed. My off-plumb stare shutters the frontal mirror with glances dipped in mind-silence (a philharmonic reflection of thoughts) like weapons of mass-delusion landing, time warped into circular waves, as if the earth was barren and the crepuscule crawled its face.
A picture’s worth a thousand words, a gesture’s worth a thousand pictures gently, a poem’s play in pantomime conflicts.
I motion: a feather’s ink on a goat’s skin “Let there be light,” premeditated mind scaffolding of thoughts accelerate… The accident puzzles out from shivers.
Concerto
Days play like piano keys: One high, another ⅜ black 3 pitches redder in tone, 8 in the shake of a jug of wine Held by the renegade hands Stretched to pound bones by day Laying bricks by night Folding the plastic Penguin notes With tiny glove kisses As if chopping red onions Classy sounds soothing the Sun-Days Deaf sounds approaching the D-Day Days that her hands can chord no more Days of the piano keys that no ear Is soft enough to hear, Lips breathing heavenly… Unnumbered. The Day You Left
The day you left Oblique silhouettes slipped by Unavailingly into the void― Floral graffiti on the bare walls Odors of ink stepped aimlessly Onto words...
Out of place Dull shadows swallowed paper ―two letter ghosts Under the fingers that I long longed for: Lone statements of the wintry sun
The day you left ―small steps on the snow path― Absent handprints caressed deaf doors The air― Softened smells Like dust in lighted tears Lifted deep stripes of our unflawed sorrow Angular rhythms of sunlight beams
A narrow smile― Your caged garments mumbled with no fear: “Well, after all, what’s Love if not A joint plot of soiled beggars Searching for their soul...”
The day you left A clown consumed by pigments and fake laughs All melted off...
So far Your lips again― Submerged like cloudy flowers in Clear water-diamonds Black sterile waves reflecting The fruitless tree bereft of bark
Astray― Astray? An ashen seraphim seen drown in ashes you circle near To rescue our love with bow and arrows...
A needle Dipped in glands of salty venom Amid concern― That listening to heart A new life form could come. A Lost Trail of Manhood
In forested hills bordering reed-rotten lakes Where swamps and marshes dry up in squares One’s life begins to wonder, One’s life begins to wonder What’s left to live in a world that dies?
Birds embracing A hole-ridden floating log Wings kept down like in A courteous dance, Small rats running in a slime line Terrified by the incense, Insecure Though in an absolute dependence of bodily pleasures And self-interests.
Life in need of impervious rational-analysis Here opened to thrilling vice, Impotent virtues Snakes following their sinuous, shining needs― Devalued of life when fulfilled.
A little lower than the angels A little higher than the beasts The sway of time In the mills of slaughter Beheld in the eternal gloom Of flesh and blood And born from its voracious aim Within and beyond all things and all ideas, Though neither a thing nor an idea.
The Stainless Eye
He lets his eye through the mountains of hooded rocks down the valley through the twin doors: crescent moons, shinning warm through intoxicating L-shaped tunnels holding methane― faint bombs through rubbing worms, unknown colonnades polls Cyclop screens he lets his eye scoping blind polyps.
Through Reeds
The essential flesh is peeled mandarins― Viscous rivers burst in their skin with enamored rinds Boomerang as if hurled into a paradise dam.
I see through reeds―the lioness’ mane―mad Febrile claws leap graciously like a saguaro’s smile: Upward-curving, funnel-shaped roar and edible
Raphaelite. Raw-lungs entangles raw-hair― Volcanic gaze illuminates my laden swamp, her well of urge and lust. The essential flesh, Light from her lips folder.
Walking the Eclipse (Sequel)
In balanced steps―bellow the sky and the water the moonlight’s fingers long walk calls back the long gone song: where are you?
Beyond the tease the roaming portrait: summer clothed, disappearing through reed, your bare footed shriek skin―wood-cut―like in a red sculpt, yet glowing
“I sense an angel's halo, halcyon!”
Day in, day out... Besides what was you eye & begging eyes touching my virtual clock, tick-tock...
The wait lessens hope as it lasts waits scattered memoirs that I missed...
My solitary arms are longing for the looming breast, the tall wings that caressed your surrealistic neck.
We are / we're not... Hear the bells? You might have said that I forgot...
Apart, together―the trickling sand day in, day out the sun falls like a spear.
I am a jailbird in my own time my virtual plane―owning the idle emptiness in which I breathe.
Her spirit nonetheless was lost like a flicker in a forgotten forest...
As I knee in the stream at dawn I can reach the infinity of that foggy May when heavens lost appeal and nightmares like monstrous butterflies struggling in the mist of poisonous pollen touched her lips tasting the unseen departure.
The Still of the White
Cathedrals― plastered over cannons, angels broadcasting their curly heads over nebulous shafts, conjuring far-off sketches of Heaven peaks mutilated by the dark beam of the last dwelling star.
Celestial snowballs dance on ice, illuminating the bitterly blurred chaos at dawn.
Listen! Listen to this daybreak of silence where nothing is nearer though nothing is seen afar where everything is as is― where the eyes of mud slumber deep in the mouth’s valley leaving their tears glistening through the fog of words that will soon freeze up at their last wintry breath ―the lost song of the elapsed dust.
Listening to ―through the flaky cellophane― the white heron… A ghostly mirage clothed in crystal plumage gliding pristine and voiceless in the pounding whiteness widen by the approaching dawn.
The Silverado Highway
The prairies’ saltgrass in the morning sun fall and rise higher, to perihelion blue where the tongues of the Highway fuse into the redemption line, one orison stretch from the Lone Star vortex higher to Home.
symmetrically flattened, freckled with: white dots, alternating water towers, cement towers; cunning weed camouflaged in hay passing like fuzz in inequity; electric power lines harmonic sinus waveforms a rhythm fading into the quiet, with each pole.
Lonesome longhorn horseshoe invisible crickets serenading atomic stripes of flies.
Out of the blue, discerning sibilant calls, I hear: lowly bowed orisons duly paid on the three sides of the divide.
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