Wind Song
Fragrant romance echoes
a’fall through cobwebbed memory.
Catches buoyant balance, calm within storm.
Joined in joyful merriment of dancers,
glide of
choreographic poetry.
Mind full,
whispers poignant song.
Beatific motion,
a chance to play
where love is symphony
from which breath expands
each to each.  Majestically enhanced,
this brief season.
In the wind
stories, blow, whirl,
wisp, purr gentle, insistent, strong,
rush wide, long, dipping below.
A galaxy, a swirl of lights
blinks bright, dark, invisible for a slow
millennium or so;
only vaguely glimpsed on night minds,
obstructed by veil, by shadow, by
“No, that can’t be real.”
Until softly swaying melody
centered in some fantastic sirocco
casts about for local color,
adoring djinn bleating for succor.
The field dances
hungrily with wind, with wild.
In the eye of eternity, wise
as any child, as any wizard
myth could conceive,
This One, This Master of
enchantments (believe, my kin,
believe) takes fluid stand.
Takes true command.
Raises eyes, might, arms
to conduct transcendent music.
Sky and ground converge
lightly, marry grace and supplication,
make merry conversation,
soothe wounded beasts from
secret space with dervish charm.
The few self-selected to observe,
learn to carry on these tales,
loose from sobriety.
Enthralled by call of magic,
weave a new reality.
Ride high on dragon scales,
spirits entranced.
hungry zeitgeist
Slivers, splinters, falling meaning.
Catch it, send it spinning out to the stars.
Bleeding rags dressed in fine red droplets.
Shredded hands, hopes, hearts, drip desire.
I can’t hold on, hold out, hold a good thought,
flailing through agonized neurons,
shattered mirrors
unable to provide sustenance
hold suction,
bind the wound.
Embrace me.
Clasp so tight and tenderly
as blood scores your fingers.
Touch my raw eroding senses
with gentle rain, easing,
obscuring the view.
I would curl up into destiny,
lock my lacerations
in fantasies of false skins.
Sliding, holding fast to the edges,
I would fall immortally into space,
dripping inward.
I would lock my consciousness in pasteboard boxes,
too tight for mortal breath.
The words whirl around, whirl around, whirl
like scattered bits of paper tears.
I would hide in the deepest cage and
keep to life slowly seeping through.
But the hunger calls.
It growls and jumps in fits to battle.
October 20, 2006
wall of lies
How could I trust?
All lie, even without meaning
and most certainly
when it serves them
to forget any equation including me.
A lie is an advantage.
Keep me guessing about reality,
out of a loop
to my better strategy.
And then, they make demands,
as if merely standing in their world
implies I owe them compensation
of my life and everlasting soul.
Some social contract I never knew
I signed.
Jungle law ought to be good enough.
Eat or get eaten; do or die.
Do jungle kin lie slyly
amongst their brethren?
Do they scar little children,
raise them tame and scared?
Is there nowhere among humanity
where trust is valued
enough to create language
truly sharing?
Who would travel there
if it meant
forsaking the comfort
of lies?
October 20, 2007
Neon Elephant
The bubble bursts
throwing us into wakening
Neon elephant, released,
trumpets:  abandon hope,
all ye, all ye
Cast upon cold, raging seas
Melting ice,
jagged, threatening:
Drown or be pierced through
Damn that trumpeting
loud and out of tune
Neon elephant slurps floating
ice cap tasting of
polar bear and cool jazz
Muffled notes of alarm
deny dream refugees,
long abandoned to
holding out hopeful arms,
crying for release
Shiny soap bubbles
Slippery laughter
Treasure and sad, sad lives
slipping under
Neon tons
Pierced by hungry ice shards,
brief angry red screams
call mindless sharks to frenzy
Top of the food chain to ya.
Sleep — the world spins out
from under
Awake, crashing through chaos
Neon elephant trumpets,
plays the blues
October 20, 2008
We willingly expose,
offer blood and agony.
Bitter acid drips to anoint,
seared eyes, scalded tongues,
to hallow, to invoke.
Sacrificial phoenix, a’blaze
upon the altar’s throne
over and over to approximate
Each coronation marked in
condensing steam
of carnate fluids.
We surrender our hope,
our innocence, familiarity
for the freedom wisdom implies.
Each loosened grasp on mortality,
slipping digits still desperate to hold
the next piece of the code.
Power – so slender, so sleek and bare,
air that moves worlds.
Burn raw, pure, to feel beyond
what thought could imagine, to know.
October 20, 2012