symbols of ancient trade gaily parade
coax wry smiles shaped to tease
cleverly she spins, sways, sweeps,
catches a whirl of trance
better than life
her blood, taste of iron
sweet, salt, serene
the thrill is in the taking,
the rushing and tumbling
trick of the eye laid bare
creep into sight, strive to misbehave
small, frantic, overburdened
Is such awkward love
this bright moon midnight,
enter the circus
mirror fly on the wire
transform as incantation
free, beneath galaxies,
to your gleeful applause
Far beyond cruelty
into a whole other realm
of horror, dishonour and disdain
to observe crushing pain
and serve utility
by crushing more
Not the fire in the belly,
but the air in the lungs.
Fire warms, then burns in passion,
flaming, shameful, conflagration
of sin and victory.
saintly wise, learned in cycles
of hard labor, blessed bliss —
messages like this mentored, memed,
given credence in electric market,
synapse scent, inhaled essence.
This is not a sketch.
This is awakening
from deep, drugged entanglement
Memories march in hideous mime.
Despair hangs heavy, grey,
Coarse, textured currents,
slowed for inhalation, beckon,
wave, invite companionship.
Bubbles surface, break
like flowers expelling seeds.
Breathe the inspiration.
Useful communication requires common metaphor.
(Myths forged for tribal survival divide. )
When I feel alive, rooted yet wild, outside of frame
a twirling child, free of security derived from shame
able to rise beyond the schoolyard game of divisive naming
I see within my eyes distant seas and shores,
forest fae blinking in the haze,
journeys rending years into days.
Hear the whistling, touch the swollen fruit,
amazed — counting down as I tumble.
How do I explain in this tongue we mumble,
barely getting through a random chat that
gives no exit wound to that ache beating inside
to grab a hand, touch your mind, bring to being?
Yet, why would you want to see what I am seeing?
It’s only poetry; only curiosity; it’s only
miracles of sand, twinkling, breath of fire
combusted glass, twisted into culture, class.
Beauty survives each blast, more adored for her
scars. Allured by her charms, may we doze
and stumble into sweeter reveries.
In sleep, relaxed, uncoiled core may cry in surprise
to be free, awaken realigned.
Speak friend and enter.
We have much to discuss.
Those who lose their souls to religion
Caught up in frames against their better angels
Might, if the spirit so o’ertakes their vision
Come to discern divisive righteousness’s dangers
Clinging to the stories we learned at tv’s knee
Ensorcelled by those glittering stores lining every street
Sure that might has taken the ground defining rights
Cynically forsaken, belief in heroic knights
We aren’t sheep to slaughter, although of bone and meat
Nor cattle to be ordered by our grades of beef
We’re children, with our wonder obscured by others’ dreams
Chastised not to blunder, to supplicate and bleed
To break from such enchantment, from thrall to All insane
First learn to break the viral binds, vitalize, reframe
If these be our final days, bleeding out into entropic end
No elite “may we?” can overrule life’s yen
to feel fine
while yet there is fine to feel
Feast on the hoarded best; dance well past dawn
Deny requests of war or debt to waste this waning time
It’s no thievery to claim our hours, free of robotic clocks,
take whatever’s left as a chance to be real —
if the end is nigh, or not
At time’s crossroads, Reason drowns
in rage, pain,
irradiated rain, treasonous air.
Weary of care, of punishing,
bottomless anger, of sobbing men
robbed of their right to give birth.
Taken from Mama’s warmth, from
the cave, to play brave.
And it’s ladies’ choice as you squirm
in fool’s corner.
Such a chore — kissing at this
and that for a chance to score
the shame, the blame from stuck-out
tongues, the bloody laughter.
“I could bite off that little thing — make
you squat to pee.”
Wired to fight, at any cost,
because, of course, the Cross proclaims
“We’re right. They are inherently wrong.”
“Those below must be taught to obey
our superior tools, to be broken,
that we may ride.”
Against our better fate, our race divided
along strict lines, by difference
nature devised to make us strong.
The wild has been bred out of us.
We are creatures bent to city form.
Citizens of common culture
down graded along the main stream,
abraded to fit
today’s fashion scene.
Wild instructions tug deep,
feed bloodlines unappeased,
It’s not that people are greedy; but
(I hate to inform you)
people are mean.
It’s not that we desire the piles of
gilt and coin — that’s just a ploy.
We want to enjoy standing above the
We want with great passion to dance
at the top of the heap, to be elite.
Big, fat, buttery Moon.
Baby’s face in the sky.
Tell me why you cry
fat buttery woe.
Does angry Mars threaten from above you
so far below, about to dash past rooftops
down to the safety of setting
Like so many men I’ve known.
Where is fierce pride of independence?
Why is the best we expect
repentance, regret and remorse?
So much more was on
in the cards of romantic youth;
or were you just a stagnant pawn?
When we reconcile alone,
where is the virtue
to keep us warm?
Who are you, fool Moon, to cry like
a brat in the night?
No Solar solace — pity-filled
Moon falls out of my sight.
I’ve no stomach for dawn.
Consciousness skewed out of the bounds of reality
Living some self-inflicted insanity
We’re all crazy, idiosyncratically
Pretending at rational being
Mass illusion for safety’s sake
Shackling on identity — shield and sword to brandish
Noise pollution obscures
Who can afford to feel alive?
Sun greets Earth
a hearty slap
hot and sassy
catalyzes action, ideation,
attraction — magnetizes
elements of essence
toward true North —