Suit pockets loom,
Sportcoat seams greedy,
wide-gaping zippers
like incisors filed down
to daggers.
Their inset tongues slaver-
drip ichor from folds
of silk-linen.
Raving for that cowhide-
lined parcel.
Be with me,
My little writer
wrestle angels, daybreak waits.
Lips divesting,
whisper fervent
snare the fool who needs no bait.
Our streets lay under branches
where winds are turning, churning
turning leaves to fall
churning thoughts so sweet
of a whitened land so pure
for a spring that will endure
past the hearts that weep
past Death’s chilling sleep
In my mind my sister’s near
In the courtyard we leave fear
and take to the air
to change…
As saints of old,
or those carved in church nooks
my eyes gaze over to you
and wonder at your form,
your abrupt turning
to everything that ‘waits your hand
and the way you close and seal a book
with a lingering sigh
And I must move to capture
the riddle in your pause
And I know I won’t quite catch it
before you find a [...]
there’s a mirror-man,
with dark, rough hands,
in the theatre-alley of retrospect
that cues the finest intros
his long-cane stills my stuttering lips
and over-weight pride en-lightens
a destroyer and a builder
in turns I smile and fight him as
his bruised hands motion for my next act
bright stage lights flare precisely
when I want a night scene
the curtain falls untimely
on my improv soliloquy
This [...]
Many of you may think disjointed is the word for me recently anyway. Not that I mind. Today at a convenience store there were at least two crazy people. (edit: I am really not making fun here, I think our view of what is normal is crazy in itself) One of which obviously had a [...]