Close Shave
If Time needs
a barber
we are the knife...
Cutting close
at the stubble
though our aim
may seem subtle!
...We'll turn back these
Grand Daddy hands,
with fervent amour!
...running in and out
of our own
Time loop...
Saving seconds
at the family store,
off Ol' Shaver road
We got the best
swivel seats, baby
that Papa O'Clock
ever did know!
360...
an old Cop
on the beat
was bit with
curiousity
checking out
our Mom n' Pop shop
and couldn't find
a hair misplaced,
or going out of style!
...It made him feel he
may have missed a trick,
so he headed home to bed immediately...
...He was gone by morning,
they said he had bled out
overnight...
Momma Terra's
so handy now
with her razor,
that every person smiles...
...She caught us on the
upswing with both her
steady well-versed hands
We're still slicing through
the bolts and wires
in this coffin of lost hours...
No one's watched how to freeze
the gears of time,
though they've muted it's death rattle
so the people in the stands don't know
stench of catastrophic cattle...
Rotting in this pasture field...
Aching if we all conceal
every card forevermore...
Time needs shearing...
On all fours,
begging for a righteous tanning
'fore it shambles off to die.
Twilight of the Murdered Many...
Eyes pick roses from night sky.
©
Bunny and
Mavia Villaire
8/20/20
Tumbling Face First Into the Bog
Tearing across a dewy lawn
a baby squirrel flies like lightening
up a thick monster of oak,
and evacuates another
dust-bunny sized squirrel
from his supposed claim
as the sun bleeds down through
the branches...
...I hear the disposed squirrel
chitter back at the squirrel at the top
of the tree in anger,
as the victor chitters back his way,
sounding like he's laughing,
and for some reason
my mind goes flying,
and I'm off on another tangent,
wandering deep through the wet muck,
shaking my cans together
'til this slot in time's
unstuck...
Are we biting at each other heels?...
Why do we care when a birthdate slides by,
and the presents aren't forthcoming
from the people who would matter least?...
...Or even if they do matter,
where does this expectation rise from?...
It's like poor people dressing up
to impress the rich
who never look their way,
except to say,
"Good, they're occupied..."
There's a desire for status,
to be a King of something static...
We buy the gleaming products,
or respond out of some panic
to the political agenda
of the day...
"Which side are you on?..."
Fighting for our right
to bitch into a thick fog mist!...
...If we really knew the score
would we still carry this insistence
to have all flagrant voices heard
for no clear reason but the sound...
"Hear that echo in the park?...
...It's getting louder...
Something's swelling..."
I want my head to stop it's bell,
But there's a reason I've been ringing...
Need to reach or breach a bank
where there is fewer words, I think...
...Give it a rest...
Take it to bed...
We must remove ourselves
from morass.
Hearing the squirrels chitter build
out of that bush
where it's been damned...
...To be condemned is not so bad,
as long as we have time to sit
and lick old wounds,
ponder our selves...
Whatever gives me back
my voice.
©
8/18/20
Bunny Villaire
Time Well
The night is riding in
just around the hill
we hear the clattering
where a flag is waving
in the wind...
a lady’s handkerchief
within the romance
of the moment
so resplendid that we sing!
children of the village
holding lanterns up
for the thrill...
all is changing
all is changed
all is change
our hearts
still palpitating
What will surface in this night?
From the black ink below the bridge
That dips and dives
Drawing secrets down,
down into it’s elusive fold
To be translated by that shadow on our backs…
The night flowers are blushing,
And pungent…
A ghost hollers up to us from
Davey Jones locker…
A whole host of fireflies
Comes alive and lights our way,
So that for an instant we can vaguely attempt
To re-trace lost steps and fall back
Into the mad ranks of the nature scene…
…Still straining to see with hungry eyes that hear!
all is changing
all is changed
all is change
and we
are pocketing it
© Aug 14, 2020
Bunny Villaire
Mavia Villaire
Something Wild To Pour Over Ice
Crimson fire flecks my wrist...
I, an estranged prisoner of whims
is out here on a limb
with barely a cloth to cover swinging nuts and berries...
The Magician’s list of countless admirers has become
a mad riot like a swarm of bees where something sinister
floats above the night-time branches
in the woods where trees
take second chances, and remain in the
humble presence of aloof mad men...
These woods are haunted by forgotten murders,
and fractured panes of glass slide in my bleeding gaps...
...Forgive me while I ask
how and when you came to fall upon
this paralyzed state
where your knees shake, and shutter from the inside?...
The nightly winds come home to taunt you
with their fierce, unrelentless hiss
to crack a gaze into the swirling
snake-pit of pragmitism...
A pained face in the reflected blue
confesses to itself while the winding road
of worry lines cast a shadow
like a road sign lurching up
from the highway
on a night
spent horrendously
in a barely waking state...
Crimson fire flecks my wrist!...
Inhaling karma traces
from the confines of your gas chamber,
unbeknowst to none...
Your eyes close off, and you become
an iron lung...
A chimney with a drooping chalice...
A nap-sack slung over a shoulder with a helpless sway...
Tonight I burn from worlds astray that pile near a
swelling dumpster, striving in their elegant invisiblity
to be seen and heard,
or even tripped over by some stupid wasted fucking asshole;
as we miss the boat, and endless road obstructions
to return to what has long existed
’neath our toes that taste the grass with eager straws
caressing nectar of the Gods.
©
7/28/20
Bunny Villaire
Edit #2
Finding Footing
Up high, from tree to tree
like Tarzan,
on a rope that someone
torched...
Are we swinging into death?...
...Burning hedges
'til all evidence is gone...
Wise minds from the abyss
are swallowed up
like a Hershey Kiss.
I see a boy mopping a blackboard
Long before the words are taught,
and absorbed through hungry pores...
...Loading bullets in our slots.
Are we plunging into peril?...
Is the concrete parking lot
like a jungle
that we're lost in?...
Has our sweetness gone to rot...
...Left too long on careless
windows?...
Feeling something's been misplaced...
I am standing,
arms akimbo,
staring down at rising
waste,
while the bleeding hearts
attest that
they are slaving through
the night
to avenge, and free our planet...
unshackling us from our plight.
There's only now, as future comes
too late to make a change...
Despite the fears we hold inside,
we all must lift the page,
and dive into this living fire;
each day times set our stage.
©
7/24/20
Bunny Villaire
Bullets of Terror Pass Through Me
Random fire drives by,
pinches me by the sleeve...
Blood escapes from black spaces
unfathomed,
on the course to attention,
as I hustle and weave...
Keep heart-beat with my leg!...
Shaking shots up and down,
’til the night clicks it’s switch,
coming on like a twitch,
as it fits like a cast
over pockets of space...
...Hollow vacancy waits,
with those stars in my sky,
to become in it’s folding...
Like a finger that’s scolding
flying up, flying down!...
Getting stuck in my sound...
Bullet terror...Keep on!...
Never long in this world...
Being pressured too long...
Locking lips with dead birds
when the beat goes unheard,
while the herd closes in...
Random fire drives by,
pinches me by the sleeve!...
Blood escapes from black places
unfathomed,
on the course to attention,
as I hustle and weave...
...As I hustle and weave
over houses and trees,
with the wind and the clouds
’til my spirits retrieved.
©
7/21/20
Bunny Villaire
I can hear you humming that song,
thumping your feet as you tap along.
Your eyes alive as you smile wide,
you come and hug me from behind.
We dance together your heart and mine,
You bellow the lyrics, butchering each line.
And now as the same song plays in this shop,
I don't want it to stop,
because the harder I try to hold on to each detail,
my memory of you has begun to fade.
I close my eyes and try to see you as you've been,
but the song stops playing more quickly than I can,
and when I looked again,
you were gone.