machine whispers hissing
seething in the cities spitting
fumes rolling off black tongues licking
wounds weeping molten bleeding
molting its plate metal beating
its chest a new shrill rhythm emerging
in the cracks under its feet
in the life in the shit heap.
july is the smog of
our blood boiling and
the anguish as the sweet
steals away and the acrid
limps in our nostrils
it shambles it hobbles
assaulting our senses
is the din the discord
tattoos crescendo more
and more and more.
i will bleed no more
when the januair bites
me with my every breath.
i will bleed no more
when tinnitus swells
in place of drones of death.
i will bleed no more
when the snow's silence
brings furious pain.
i will bleed no more
when april comes
with its warm cruel rains.
10/29/09
A Challenge
this stanza is
a desecration of
the infinity around it
examine this word
autoimmune
examine this stanza
look at a blank sheet
of paper and find
the pattern constructing it
continue it
10/28/09
a desecration of
the infinity around it
examine this word
autoimmune
examine this stanza
look at a blank sheet
of paper and find
the pattern constructing it
continue it
10/28/09
The Poet Upon Entering Heaven
The Poet Upon Entering Heaven
Roused. Leave me weeped, for the weepers have.
I have stood somber vigils at your feet mad
that you secured an exit while I just stood tense.
Now I'm granted a room for myself?
A door in the partition, the key on my neck? Well,
I refuse. My memory rebirthed the inhabitants.
And rightly so, let no strangers be allowed in my Paradise!
Knock and knock, I am content to suck my ice,
Tasting my last White Russian, hints of cream, foggy
Surely there's a reason for this prison I hate.
Before I was not wont to somnambulate
but perhaps I will take up the hobby.
10/26/09
Roused. Leave me weeped, for the weepers have.
I have stood somber vigils at your feet mad
that you secured an exit while I just stood tense.
Now I'm granted a room for myself?
A door in the partition, the key on my neck? Well,
I refuse. My memory rebirthed the inhabitants.
And rightly so, let no strangers be allowed in my Paradise!
Knock and knock, I am content to suck my ice,
Tasting my last White Russian, hints of cream, foggy
Surely there's a reason for this prison I hate.
Before I was not wont to somnambulate
but perhaps I will take up the hobby.
10/26/09
First Passion
First Passion
The back porch on a summer night
the greenness in the dark is
watching and is also watched
A gust sends the bristles in
but the roots warm the blood
flows the daze unhazes
Flurries bite and feed the
flame inside it kilns the snow out
side to slopes to hills to worlds
The sun inside is pulsing blind
and tonguing the dark green
grapples seeming ceaseless caseless chaos
Dawn is always ending somewhere
and beginning in the depths of night
noon is shining on the moon in ecstasy.
10/25/09
The back porch on a summer night
the greenness in the dark is
watching and is also watched
A gust sends the bristles in
but the roots warm the blood
flows the daze unhazes
Flurries bite and feed the
flame inside it kilns the snow out
side to slopes to hills to worlds
The sun inside is pulsing blind
and tonguing the dark green
grapples seeming ceaseless caseless chaos
Dawn is always ending somewhere
and beginning in the depths of night
noon is shining on the moon in ecstasy.
10/25/09
When She Walks By
When She Walks By
When she walks by the flowers gossip
and their eyes follow her, alert,
later they water the grass like crying faucets.
The sun pouts, deeply hurt.
The flowers watch her dance
and not the great Inert.
And watch the moon advance
like a cocky bachelor in the sky.
Her eyes! Soon he is but a nightlight in a trance.
Always on the move, butterflies
feel atoms in their stomachs, excited
as I am when she walks by.
10/24/09
When she walks by the flowers gossip
and their eyes follow her, alert,
later they water the grass like crying faucets.
The sun pouts, deeply hurt.
The flowers watch her dance
and not the great Inert.
And watch the moon advance
like a cocky bachelor in the sky.
Her eyes! Soon he is but a nightlight in a trance.
Always on the move, butterflies
feel atoms in their stomachs, excited
as I am when she walks by.
10/24/09
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