Ethereal
Campfires seen across the lake
Speaking to each other in fiery debate
Embers popped with every rebuke
Exclamations in every flake
A basket of sound; pop and crackle
Spew and sizzle, even a little
Was enough to singe my flesh
And choke my untempered breath
Into dust I sink, bereft of belief
Against the flames, perhaps underneath
That familiar shriek of knotted beech
Drowned the sound of gnashing teeth
Chomp, chomp, chomp at the bit
The space between fire and pit
I found myself in the romp
Between space and air and heat
This is a Recording
I get it.
I would contemplate doing the same.
Living in that bubble of protection; the original brick in the wall that had been torn down and rebuilt- a memoir stuck in a library that the romans threatened to burn down if you stepped outside.
What we had, how we loved, it is an ode to the past. How dare anyone suggest the future when we can live comfortably in the past. So pass up this moment and relive the recording.
This is a recording.
Obelisk
As I tripped, I fell into
Her hysterical, unbound moue
Mimicking her frenetic gaze
I could not look away
Mesmerized by her ocular disc
A sunset hidden behind an eclipse
The big hand ticked
I was late for my tryst
Oval turned into obelisk
Scratching, clawing for the hatch
Was I swimming or crawling?
Of all the sins, this vacuous space
Would be my final estate
No reprieve, just a pit
Looking up from where I sit
I see my face, I can’t undo
The frozen, fractus moue
Seam
Amarillo moon, sliver of hope
Exhausted Jazz Club with my folks
Fried lightning, cover the covers
What could it mean, without the gleam
Of your face
You are the seam
Ripping from my skin
Now I’m undone
And I blame the stars
For I have no means
To accept the seams
On your face
You are the stitch
Ripping out my sin
I marveled at the Sundance;
The flames on the car
Far away from the battles
Bloodshed and stains
On your face
From the paint
Of the boundary
A memory
If anything
YLW
Jet engines
Masked the scream of your stare
15 minute parking
Shrieks in the air
The dogs are coming
Stampede in the lot
Shrill as the steam
From the boiling pot
Automatic sliding doors
Corporate deity whores
Mill around the compound
Looking for department stores
While my words in wells
Exhale and howl
Echo, yet never escape
From deep within my jowel
I felt fear before the growl
As she clutched my nape
Fingers flexed from the fireside
Holding me hostage to her spiraled eyes
The paralyzed
Willow eyed
Temptress aura
Amplified
There she was
There she went
Walking, writhing
On cement
My head in the clouds
Don’t stop me now
Colorado low
Etched on my brow
I’ll never find
The words to say
So I’ll just shriek
The hurt away
Sitting here
Drop off lane
I’ll never see
My love again
Percussion Woes
I’m sorry I could never strum a guitar
The sticks were all I ever needed
My shortcomings
I lay out with sweat on the snare
I’m pouring my heart out
In the background
Steady and heavy
With a touch of finesse
Ohhh, this will never publish
At my publicist’s wish
All these perceived shortcomings
And I came up with this