Disks of tarnished silver made their advent over the bay, trailing their tatters of cloud remnants. And I believed. Oh, I believed. What has come?
I believe that I will rise the next morning. A fifth part of me will study the textbook of motion, be credulous of the day’s tumbling numerals. The dots on the dice of chance.
No ripping fireworks spitting light.
No carnal carrion to evidence a fight.
Poets starving, children bleed.
All for what?
An assassin’s creed?
‘69 tires on a soft top bug
A streetlight sheen on their bulging sidewalls
That dumdum donut drive
Idiots near turned it over
And their donkey ho tee laughs
GTFO with your poor man’s GTO
I fear I would be shy
if you were to speak to me.
I know.
It’s not a good look.
But I’m imprinted with your face.
I know.
Creepy, I imagine you think.
Each mannerism, each quirky movement,
tells a tantalizing story
that I am meant to understand.
I am sure of it.
Yes, I am.
Nights at the round table!
Spouts of hot tea
sloshed into cups of tiny china.
Cards and clinking glasses,
glinting toothy smiles!
One nods off
after too many Jameson’s.
Piggyback up the stairs,
unfold him into bed, hah!
Open a window, will you?
What, tired already?
It’s only two!
I’m seeing more somethings
in the sighing air
Distances to dramas,
beatific in their flash,
are shortened.
Though I once feared the fear,
lungs of sponge breathe it in,
baptizing its fire,
and I am well.
I am well.
I speak in tongues
sometimes.
Surely at night,
in deep sleep,
but now, of late,
in broad day.
It started with watery voices,
the makers of dream.
We argued, for sport.
But they’re no longer day blind,
and I mimic their lies.
I do not need a bowl of salvation for i see people dying each day the walls of fragile mind separating recklessly. Florals of weak mind abstain from …
A blank slate
When I woke up
this morning
I laid there for a bit
Idly went to scratch my nose
then nearly had a fit
Someone else’s hand was there,
with skin of ebon brown
I ran my fingers through my hair
It felt like eiderdown
I went to find the looking glass
to see what face was there
Expecting not the veritas
that I was meant to bear.
This darkened face
this different nose
this cauliflower ear
that now replaced
my beigey rose
and filled me up with fear
How could I go out like this
and look over my shoulder
Walk in fear and maybe miss
the chance of growing older?
Associate with the simple
Learn what tickles fancies
Amplify, in bellicose bellow
Whip into a scripted frenzy
Let loose the sheep
who think themselves lions
but are infected with the surety of lies
and the enfeeblement of reason
Then cull the herd
to make them docile
I have clown eyes,
drawn and bagged by time.
Cauliflower ears
tuned to a natural E.
Chittering teeth,
made sharp by erosion,
fit to snag the tongue in the cheek.
A coconut carapace
to hold my hat
and support these sliding spectacles.
And the slow regard of a timeworn tortoise.
Aremyfeetofftheground 