Monday, August 31, 2015

Squirrels and hornets

order is a human illusion
and squirrels and hornets
are the first to remind
that not everything can
be kept in a straight line

and never was there a river
that longed to flow in such a manner
still they rage behind the dams
to tear them down and run free

for chaos is the thirsty root
that feeds the sprig of choice
it nourishes the prophet
giving the soul a voice

sing they do from mountaintops
and twirl in the dance eternal
among quasars and specks

Sunday, August 30, 2015

The circle serpent cult

held the sand grains
that hold the rains
and tip for sip of it

liquid poured for
those gods' thirst
in the sea of iron at the core

red for crimson
laid upon their brow
the taste drips down

precious rubies fall
between floorboards
into the hellish hall

belly of the beast
of the overlooked feast
where mother eats her child

yet to birth another
it is all she knows
this give and take mother

the children dance too
they parade into their tombs
their coffins their wombs

and suckle from the sea
of iron at the core
begging on hands and knees

their mother feeds away
stealing from night to pay the day
and lingers in her debts

yet debts are wiped clean
after the turn of stars above
and gold from the harvest glean

to the winds words are said
the circle serpent turns
and the sea of iron burns

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Was wet

cellular saturation
the roots dive through
into depths of soggy soil

this body
the dust it came from
in heavens only heaven
knows where

dust spat on
to raise this clay
on a rainy day

it only knew wet
and when to sip
and never stop

heated throat
a wick inflamed
to burn from bottle
and ghosts that chase

only the cold
glacial salvation
to freeze the fire

only the ice
to wake the rain
from burning desire

to firm the fall
of drowning flesh
to blot the bed
flooded and floating

out into desert hands
the arid promised lands
where wet once was known

Tuesday, August 25, 2015


which of these are tucked
into crevices of the page
along margins in obscene
obtuse angling lines
tilted and crammed along
the printed images
and other fonts of various
letters and numbers

these verbal doodles of
original blurps mutilated
by scratching pens with
venomous ink that tie up
thoughts in corrective webbing

these doodles that dangle
from rafting drafts and
may withstand the tireless
waves of editorial seas

which of these ascend
to their own printed page
and pompous font and
be accessorized by the
flowing dribble of doodles

Monday, August 24, 2015

A gust too late

the butterfly has been spread
too thinly over the dry crust of earth
the days spent in northern skies
run too many and over flow
into swimming holes children know

breezes dance on buzzing ears
and lash their whispery whips
calling out their every name
in every cell in every hive
"sip, sip, sip to stay alive"

echoes sail in with those winds
that carry the icy north touch
to raise the hair on sunburned arms
and rouse the reaping hands
those echoes from frozen lands

mornings beg for sun kissed dawn
as shadows still the breath in chill
fruit pulls from exhausted vines
and trees nod in early eves
knowing green will drain from leaves

Saturday, August 22, 2015

Passing sea

devious the wind as it tickles
the gleam off cottonwood leaves

a hypnotist at its best,
with its green crystal flickers,
to pluck one's attention as
a feather from reality's old hen

whisk away that feather flight
into the realm of clouds and sky
and dark depths of a passing sea
that once slumbered on the land below

when feathers were scales of mighty fish
that ate and fed with serpentine gods

and rest was only found in some stomach
or at the floor of the passing sea

the floor where shells buried themselves
in the rest that flowed from emptied stomachs

those the tides of hollow cores
to ebb the lives poured into the sea
and flow the earth and stone below thee

for it was blood and gnashing teeth
tearing flesh and grinding bone
of lengthy battles for survival
that built the ground the very tree
that mesmerized thee suckles from

yet the wind still tickles the waves
be they glistening waters or bowing blades
over the dark depths of the passing sea

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Fall before the fall

twas the tallest of these
the golden petaled trees
that tossed and twisted
and toppled to its knees

in torrid tempest thrash
and windy thunder flash
brought low haughty high
to rain soaked soil and ash

lay dying shining yellow crown
and green wings on cold ground
unearthed the Achilles heel
where shallow feet were bound

Life in calla

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Word up

the vomit splatters against the page
to fill the white void blankly staring me down

convulsions repeat as the regurgitated
words instigate the process again and again

the spittle eats through the moist paper pulp
a corrosive medium used and abused

and tears the sheet from rattled fingers
their tremors shaking the work apart

alas the heaving of drivel desists
alas a paper of dribble exists

dabbing with napkin the corners of mouth

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

The drag

drab the years
spent in idle wait
and drag the years...

weighing down aching legs
that trudge
through the bloody earth

the mud longing to hold
what once
was it's very own flesh

the years a sharpened point
and drag
across the bloody earth

in grooves the needle flows
to hum
the hymn of this existence

drab the years
paisley wallpaper
of former fashion...

that there hang in hope
the turn
that spins the earth around

that brings the rays of sun
once more
through dusty window panes

upon faded hues the glow
of new
once known, now remembered

and echoes calling out
from years
dragging across the earth