dissolute neo transgressive
a fantasy lauded libertine
self mythologizer
writing ugly comments
on corrosive voids like black outs

broken verses sounded out
in mangled staccato
needing rearranged horizons
like olives without pimentos
and skies cobbled from
thatched metal bones
moonless poems with no dream life

words repeated
I
The
A
Dah

if the eyes are not blurred,
and our ears can still hear-
the ranting madness of the early morning cock.

then we say,
a cat had cried like a cat
and the early morning sun had smiled as usual.

but what if
the seer cant see
the hearer cant hear
and dogs welcoming thieves
to get tips

then,
what do we call that.

Sometimes it happened, even on a hot summer’s day,
my mother would suddenly shiver, clasp her shoulders
within her palms, her arms folded across her chest.

It was one second's wave of cold, then passed at once.
When it happened, she would say, "death touched me".
It was always without alarm, fear, or tragic overtones,

I remember it well. Since I took mother’s saying literally,
I was also without any fear, or any state of alarm in me,
I would look behind my mother, but could not see death.

There’s nothing quite as sweet
As when a group of half notes meet
Throw a sonic party
Supplement each other’s frequency
To get pitches so harmonious
Concordant and euphonious
Like Tchaikovsky or Led Zeppelin
A song can be the soundest medicine
A waltz in three four time
Scales that both descend and climb
And move the heart to ecstasy
An auditory chemistry
Sometimes it can take hours
To give music transcendant powers
But that’s the muse’s bidding
This treat we fondly call “note pudding”

I scattered sand
Took shells from the sea
Made a wedding band
Just for you and me..

I wait with patience
For you to find me
Soft music makes sense
Palm trees planted three.

With truth we will talk
To plan a future
Tie a knot type walk
A soft love venture.

July it was for us
I had made in dreams
There you with no fuss.
A beautiful scene..

Sparrow..

Ian T

The haze of dawn is burning off
as my old truck comes to a slow stop
and I join it in a gentle cough
here at long ridge's sharp top.

Here the woods are mostly pine
with persimmons and a few cherry too,
a few draped in muscadine vines
with late summer sun now peeking through.

The door opens to humid air
and I groan a bit as I step out
causing a squirrel to fuss and stare.
I grin at him then look about.

Wow
Summer again was cold all along
a young chick remains glued to mom's tits he adorns
pair of sibling’s, young ones pull each other’s hair for fun
Mom and pop are sunning at the beach
preparing for another summer’s lasting memorable one (for fun)

young upcoming teens wish to brush lips often
as they cross the permissible age
their love entwined has begun

another couple is smiling
the coming one is kicking her tummy
what a funny feeling

Woefully resting inside a shattered wine glass... thoughts in throwback seem to enjoy my wind-less hang glider... floating just above the borders of
"no mi queda - nada mas."
And with time now aiding another in my game of life, the only true hole in one...
resembles those nasty little potholes back to my heart.
So as I shun the act and art of drifting on a memory, this erasable ego remains
flossy clean, not unwritten, but certainly left leaning... as I stand before the shout of a pain not purged...……………………..