on a dandies corner
leaning back on the faded
brick..
got his toad sticker out
and peeling off the gravel
and dog shit pressed into
the fancy tread of
second hands
Smiles too those smiling
and blank watchful to
those sneering
grabbing their purses
checking their wallets
"goddamn pussies!"
he Smiles folds his knife
pulls out a long fag
with his four good
fingers and flicks the
zippo to its nice little
fire....
Watches the smoke
rise in the breeze

My future is murky
but her eyes are clear
more olive to me
but maybe nearer green

at this achromic point,
I cannot tell
what lies in those
colours

yet I could be right
and the glint in
this colourblind eye
could return

Slow birds wing over a burnt copper sky,
against the wind they sing,
silhouette petals falling upward,
matching the black mountains back.

Clouds become towering furnaces of rare colour,
beyond description they, dominate the evening,
gifting the sun's dispersion into an unknown spectrum,
more precious than any hanging gem glimpsed

Wormhole Prophecy

Round and round the story goes
without a rhyme or reason
simply imitating prose
that varies with each season

muses change and voices heard
often unexpected
but the safety of the word
is jealously protected

stringent moths
weave waves
of shiny holes
Like breath
evaporating
in these mists
burning cold
and flooding
in the murk
Glass eyes
that always
see against
the shade of
time
Lashes trickling
through green
framed screens
rivers of golden
sun leaking
to the floors
a tannin tea
a bottom of
antique urge
where floor
boards shift
with the weather
in waves
nudging dreams
in lace stirred
night

So many lies have formed
the cracks in my heart.
Inside, my soul is really torn
and I'm forever scarred.

Betrayed, my dreams have died
I'm bleeding hopes of yesterday
that charlatans have casually denied
with words that poisoned my day.

but I know the grim faces on the sky
doesn't always mean it will rain.
Sometimes they're just passing by
before the sun returns again.

Funker Vogt cranked on the JVC
seats cranked back
and the V-8's hauling strong
its pissing rain
we're cutting through traffic
like an alligator jacked
on speed through
Buffalo stampedes of Suv's
Marcellina's laughing
feet on the dash

wipers thumping harder
then the bass too keep
up...

North away for the weekend

been up for three days
on the run
its suicide on the radial
white walls
worn thinned

Steam rose upon the sticky day that summer,
as surreal strangeness to the mist set in.
We stepped to beats played by a mystic drummer,
and waited for enchantment to begin.

Reflecting back, I wonder why we stopped,
to loiter there upon that hallowed ground.
How ill prepared we were for what then dropped,
the fearful secret soon to be unbound.

Four college kids whose light was set to dim,
by foolishly embarking on a dream;
a manuscript unearthed by fortune’s whim,
tormented us into a reckless scheme.

Recalling Shakespeare......
''''''''''why expect, as expectations cause disaster ....’’’

So all genuine poets compose
only like Niagara
it falls, even though none bathe below
we all know...
but
like a RIVER called
Life
it does continue to flow
so do words of aged,
Okay,
Experienced, ones all know...

Strewn lingerie
well
socks anyway
litter
the stairwell...

It's not a sexual
awakening

I throw socks
instead of bricks
they lay
untethered from the
feet

my ire
a slaughter of
footware
instead
of your
body

A soft slow motion
attack
of wollen
artillery

the point is made

a scattering of
emotion
on the stairs

better that
than
blood
eh?