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Decay
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Books Act 1: Laundry In The Wind
Tyrannosore
Blind like the mime
In dreams of twine
Dancing they’ll find
Their pantomime
Blind like the mime
Their fashion’s mine
Fashion so kind
Blind like the mime
Blind like the mime
Teenage assembly line
A row of broken swine
Blind like the mime
Blind like the mime
In medusa’s vine
Forgetting lavish kind
Blind like the mime
Blind like the mime
Drinking their sign
Their bloody valentine
Blind like the mime
Blind like the mime
He dances so fine
Watch his elbows shine
Blind like the mime
Schnitzel
They march along the clouded earth
The frosting grass, the mischief
Following the sun, his harp under arm
His humming dance, They march like ants
He’s a spade, he’s so gray, he’s so old
Watch his face unfold over the kingdom
Marching away the day
Marching away the riddle of the shade
Of his humming dance
Of jejune expression
The hauteur of penguin parades
The sorcerer of the eye, of his face unfolded
Of his face so cold, his face to mold
Of his knuckled hands aged to the bone
Watch his face unfold, like a get-well card
Like a newspaper, like a bedtime story
On a cold rainbow
Sleeping away the day
They drop their trades without me
March in dusty snow, in the vision of the sun
A penguin parade marching without me
Marching like a cold,
Like ants upon a hill of destiny
A destiny without me
As I sleep away the years
As I dream without a care
I’ve missed true love a hundred million years
I’m stuck in this dusty desolation
In the clouds of their trade
Creating a path to destiny
Forbidden like my past
Forbidden like the sun’s bearing stare
Why do I care?
Cloak + Dagger
Things turn, things twine
With sharp eyes and glass spines
A hundred distractions
Yelling, bleating, vining
In a world gone nowhere
We’re just memories
Distractions pulling a rope
Pulling a leash
Memories become distractions
The past fights the urgency of now
Time still speeds like locomotives
Like a race car on a boring track
Like a broken baseball bat
Screaming through the air
Distracting the crowd from the game at hand
A task of concentration
A task of running horizons
Of a hunt for the little fox
Time becomes a memory
A distraction in our afterlives
We’re just distractions to the dead
To the pastaways in afterlives
Somersault
Hello, Mr. Hare, go easy on me
For I am just a mere tortoise
I wish you luck, my furry friend
The crusty road spits in my face
My backly weight stretches its arms
I step upon the track
I walk my burden through the sped
Opponent still far ahead
My thoughts drip like sweat, venturing the world
Wait up, Mr. Hare, my legs are old and grey
I don't believe the looking glass when it tells me I should stay
I commend you like a race horse, Don't rest away the way
I beat thee Mr. Hare, I've reached the finish line
I laugh into your sleepy face
I chuckle stones upon your back
I giggle figs under your arms
I bellow thunder on your brain
I'm not a sore winner
Smuther
All those helium hearts
And my collection of lonesomes
Flirting with me
Pulling me away
To make a breeze a long year
A sunset on my life
Hold me to an envelope goodnight
I’ll send myself away
Oh, my lonely heart!
As they fly away by dirigible
Upon a pleasant breeze
Life is but a breeze
Through a long year
All those helium hearts
Float up to the sky so welcome
Set your sails as you set your watch
Set your pace by the breeze, by dirigible
I’ll send myself away to me
In a tired year of lonesomes, smothering me
Setting my heart by the tallest tale
To an envelope closing like a sunset.
Spider
The highway never ends
A spider-web road
That has caught cars like flies
So much ground to cover
To see every inch
Of the spider’s trap
It’s a race to infinity
Endless racecar track
Oh, the open road
Open to the public
To come and feast their eyes out
‘Till they wear out their batteries
Need to buy new double A’s
So they can map around
To some hopeless destiny
For when the day is done
The spider-web still goes on and on and on…
Pay your toll to the One with 8 legs
So you can use his bridge
So you can see every wait
On every grouchy troll’s nose
Can they map out that look on his face
When you go strolling by
Parachute boys drizzle down
To put out the fire
That you left behind
Burnt rubber in the air
Smoke and soot
Flicker in flight
That you left behind
Parachutes will drizzle it out
And all will be right
To continue the endless maparounds
Oh, the open road
Oh, the open eye
Ready to spread every map
Like strawberry jam
Ready to gaze for just a gander
For the beginning in the end
Ready to ponder
For the paper maps bend like rules
Telephone Pole Blues Pt. I-IV
“Pt I: Overture”
The telephone pole trail flows,
Living on and on and on…
It knows to travel every road
For the concrete knows the way
To another beginning another hello
Knows the way to heaven
But the telephone pole will never know
These infinite starting lines
Looking at the real trees
Free from a wire leash
The telephone pole trail never ends
Never knows its roots
It sees the scattered forests
So jealous of the blooming life
Sleeping soundly
In the layers of her bark, her skin her fur
In the marrow or her morrows
Her yesters, her bones
Telephone pole sits, stares
With concentrating interest
It stares into her eyes, into her gender
Like peering down a hole of curiosity
Like beating bricks in staring contests
The telephone pole trail’s hollow
Lack of life, lack of fuzzy, steamy breath
Huffing out, like the joggers
On the concrete paths to nowhere
To those old beginnings,
As an ending slowly stops her screws
Screeches to a screaming halt
Telephone pole trail watches
Observes the life in the jogger’s legs
In the diesel joints
Dashing through a wind of horsepower
It descends its tired head to sleep
Pressing out a gandering flock of tears
Briny like the concrete floors they splash upon
Frosty like the trickling air.
“Pt II: Life’s Sad Story”
Telephone pole trail hides
Stands in straight lines
To hide their numbers
To hide behind their shame
A secret puddle of despair
He stands between
The telephone pole lines of time
Telephone pole, he’s so humble
He grew so tall so fast so he’ll never fall
Never plunge to his golden death
He’ll never bite into the dust of the trail
He is his own, stands alone
Yet his pride is so unknown
Telephone pole points through the night
He’s lonely as a cold without a coat
But never shall a tear sprout wings
And glide up to the glades of clouds above
Never shall it kiss the moon upon his polished lips
A clever little scheme to fool a tiny little eye
Telephone pole you never had a goal
A fence to crack a ball over
A hill to gently crawl over
Your days are numbered
Like the face upon your watch
Like a saltshaker rhythm blue
Like a sloppy meal on a cozy afternoon
Telephone pole
Just an olive branch
Between the white dove’s beak
A lighthouse to a determined sailor ship
Just a sign of life
That your life is still alive
To every wayfarer
Puttering down his dark and vacant road
His humble pavement plate
Telephone pole in a human’s hole
You’re just a misfit to the trees
So telephone pole be deep
Telephone pole, in a human’s hole
Be deep…
“Pt III: Epic”
Nine months percale to your life
Forgotten like a boring storybook
Forgotten like a lost expression
On your sympathy date’s make-up face
Received an empty kiss, absorbed a blank smile
Rode a bicycle through your life
Telephone pole, you never know
How hurt you are, receiving empty kisses
Opening empty envelopes
Just to find you’re a regular at her mailbox
You never felt that day
The day you were struck
Oh, telephone pole, you were so cold
That winter night
The night you were struck
Dumbstruck by lightning
Sprouting from the angry sky
You crashed to your ending
Your final bow
Your lamps were finally on at last
Telephone pole, such a tragedy
To speak of in a storyteller gossip
You picnicked by the horizon of hell
That tragic night you crashed, you fell
You kissed your shadow that night
With a clever giggle in his throat
Telling you. He’s a real gentleman
He’ll be a prince, he’ll be your tragedy
In the eyes of your eyes
In the apple core of your heart
The fancies of all fancies
The tears of all tears
We’ll be dumbstruck
By the lightning bolt of truth
Telephone pole of the north
Telephone pole of the last oblivion
Telephone pole of the magician’s secret hat
The woman’s endless carpetbag
Don’t ever forget those nine little months
Nine months before your tragedy’s
Still shady hue
Don’t ever forget me, telephone pole…
“Pt IV: By the Way”
Like a game of catch
We exchange words
Back and forth
You’ve melted to mere voice
A voice that travels on
Through a trail of telephone poles
Two thousand miles long
One measly inch wide
Traveling on and on and on…
Over the hills over the heads
That turn up to the stars
That turn up to the thoughts
Of whom they love the most
As I turn up to you
Turn up like turnips
Out of nowhere
Out of somewhere
That seemed to be no way out and no way in
But someway is the way to travel
Telephone pole trail, carry her voice
From land to land
From the amber waves
In the shining seas
That sit and watch sunsets to me
Come soon, my love, or time awaits
In a picnic built for two
We reside in a mere phone call
From wire to our ears
We play catch with words
With needless notions
With I love you’s
We venture for a hit
Of the happy little hour
But all we reach is the hour
A blank and sour hour
Incompletion
Inconvenience
Telephone pole in the hole
Carry her fragile voice
Do not drop it on the way
By the way, by the sea
By the way is no way.
The Simsbury High School Wheelbarrow Boy
Youthful pumpkins mush him on,
Stalking his future,
Spraying dusted tracks in pacing eyes,
Running with his task,
Swayig like a tiptoeing truck,
Clicking heels in the sentimental clay,
Disturbing the sleeping soil,
Dashing by the naked trees,
So genuine,
Wheeling over the strutting brook...
~
such a passioned tale,
oh fancied little boy,
such a burden in your belt,
to yield,
on such a day like this,
Wheelbarrow knows the way,
Knows the patterns in the mysterious puzzle,
in the hands of the pen,
in the teeth of the sword,
Simsbury of every cold four years,
Of every endless desert left to cross,
Of every soul to follow other little footprint trails,
Into a cave of nuisance questions,
follow her heart,
Follow her way,
Wheelbarrow found the exit signs,
found you in the end,
In such a heavy high school,
Of watches and bells,
Footsteps and heartbeats,
All we really are, are toys,
Of the Simsbury High School Wheelbarrow Boy...
The Top Shelf
What sits up on the highest shelf?
Of this dust-infested book case?
What lies in stories untold?
what ponders a future far ahead?
What ponder lies up there so high?
One little stool is all I need,
My legs grow Underneath my knees,
What can't I see on the top shelf,
A circus that has left too fast for my short feet?
What lies are spread like butter,
Contageous as a yawn,
What do u hold above my head,
To taunt and gibe my mind?
What ponders lie, on the top shelf?
Vanish
Silence my slippers
as they whisper forth the halls
stifle my voice
as they canter to your foreign ears
baby steps, we take, we gather
we plop before us on a hopscotch sidewalk
we hop to the end to our easy chairs
follow, follow, the numbers of the pattern
the silver nervousness
of squeaking through the crack of life
you present your tears forth
forth upon my dull old shoulders
follow the hopscotch road away
we’ll fade away together
tiptoe top the numbers to our death
our death as one, as it will come
don’t forget your goggles
don’t forget to forgive
don’t forget the love behind it all
babysteps, a little march we take, we squander
we wait impatiently we do not know
how slow it waits for us
how blessed, how cursed we are
don’t ever forget
don’t ever be so clever to forget
the love observing our last few steps
we walk the plank
we know the pits under we walk
we know every little salty tooth
that waits for us
I’ll hold your hand
I’ll hold your tears on my shoulder
In my grungy shallow pocket
Snug so safe and warm
Count slowly, the last few steps
I’ll hold your shivering hand
The last few breaths,
Last few gulps of tastes of life
Don’t ever forget me
On the day to end all days
My hand, my shoulder, my pocket
Don’t ever forget the love
The poison picturesque
Don’t forget the hopscotch road
So carefully made with chalk by a worthy hand
Don’t forget the hand that waits for yours
On the day of all days
The tears of all tears
Don’t forget to count the baby steps
Don’t forget to count on me.
Girl
I will never ever live again
Burn, shall I not you instead
I'd rather perish than hold you dead
Rather shall I pent away
Till the worthless air shoves its way
Out my window, out my mouth
Leaves me in a spread of skin and bones
Never shall I see you dead
So steal my breath, take me instead
She lives so fresh, in a filthy bed
Pixey dust glittering her head
My fault, Sir King of Doom
So condemn me a heavy ball and chain
For burn shall I, than find you dead
Broomsticks
Wood and straw, all they are
Come to do all your dirty work
Come to clean up your catastrophe
Of soot and sneezing dust
Broomsticks march through all the mess
To sweep away the chaos in your lives
And return to their humble little closets
Wood and straw, all gaze in awe
At all we are and all in all of it
We climb our opportunities
Like ladders to the sun
As dust descends they race to gather all it up
It descends on to the plump and bright earth
So ripe and precious
Descends as slow as lava down the hill
So angry and confused
Racing down the hills at such a boring speed
Wood and straw, fast or slow
To move so gracefully two or fro
To migrate downstream all that remain
At the end of the day
To linger and procrastinate the party’s end
To make our lives a little exciting
With a little bit of chaos
Imagine the day
That the brooms take a holiday
How dusty must we delay
Until the day rots away
What we can still join
While the grass is still green
And the earth is still ripe
And the clocks are still on time
And the waves still keep a steady rolling tempo
On and on and on…
Wood and straw, eclipse them all
Eclipsed them all from a little fun
A little one-by-one
Eclipsed the ripe old age
From setting like the sun
Rhinocerotica Pt. I: Fiddling on the Roof
We sit in your darkness
Waiting for your charade
Lights for show
Props are propped
Music is lounged
Your show tonight
You are all I see
As we applaud your laments
We die down to continue
Your charade rendition
As we sit in your shade
You are the stars
You whisper little words
You comment our attention
Plucking rabbits from your hat
The applaudience never knows
When to cease and when to go
To set off slipstreams
Of hands together
How do you survive
As we survive your darkness?
Slow Yawn
Dandelion, patch your fur
Dandelion, dance a foreign dance
A new one every day
Every night was a new chimney to slip down
For us, for our folded hands together
Dandelion, ‘round the catnip surrender
We folded our fur together
Never ever again
You’ve curled down to a foreign dream
I’m exhausted for you
Oh, dandelion, of every new field
Of every straight line
I connected dots around your fur
Around a foreign dance
Loved you like a trembling, subtle curl
You closed your eyes and I was blind
Welcome to my sorrow
Never, dandelion
Never shall I touch your lips again, poor flower
Solstice
The darkness, is just the shadow of the moon
Painted on the earth,
Painted in the wills of lovers
In our Ferris wheel romance
In a ritual solstice
When time clicks its clever heels
We’re too far away to hear the echo
In the bittersweet darkness
It’s as quiet as a nervous mouse
As quiet as an empty house
In our hearts of four walls
In the shadows painted on us
With every tiny step
Every tired toe to kiss goodnight
Tuck them off to bed
It will just be you and I
In our four quiet walls
They’re so polite for us
In the sweetness in our eyes
In those walls
Spying like a pink panther on the run
We were a faint embrace
A faint echo
A faint shadow of romance
Turpentine Pt. I-II
“Pt I: The Shrinking Road”
Every turpentine kiss, and every shy away way
Can always sum up to a spectacle
If that spectacle is us
For joy, bring on every single sleeping day
We curled up together, so cozy and warm
We scratch-n-sniffed a love for both of us
A comfort in our company
For the company we keep is the company we mold
We were so deep, we were so bold
Sleeping in the doldrums,
Where nothing is an anything
A further thing, a bolder thing
In your smooth and vacant face
Your beating heart, beating so close to mine
Like the mouth of a bumblebee that never opens
Never shudders, never shivers
Never putters out of steam
To kiss to me, every little kiss I give
To such a willing hand
Oh, dirtying the sofa with our love
Our special sort of actions
Oh, so grand and cozy,
I locked around your fingers
Oh, so warm and shied away
Oh, beauty, oh, so splendor
Oh, so rare to kiss so late at night
So late in my early little season
As I whisper for tomorrow,
But I won’t see you ‘till the month rolls on
And over the hills again
Oh, sorrow of mine, there’s no decline
There’s no way to follow you
As you roll over the horizon’s endless hill
Not an ordinary speed bump
Menacing, to every dead-beat traveler
To every conquering sailor
Oh, graze another sea, my love
Not to travel far from me
Far from a bumble bee mouth
Our company so deep, so bold
I have grown so vacant in my sorrow
In my whispers to tomorrow’s empty promises
Tomorrow’s sneaky hidden curtains
Oh, what lies behind the curtains
Of the days after today?
The days after you’re gone
I will wait on, my promise true
For your tender little voice
For one reality in you and I
I will slumber awake
Slumber through the blunders
Spread before my discouraged boredom eyes
The cup under my eyes is shallow
As the shallowness is empty
While the cup of tears grows full
Space is scarce within the cup within my arms
As you would fill them up
So good, so grand, so rare
The moon shines hardly down the lane
To show me down this productive Nile river
This poor boy, serving a month in nowhere fast
In somewhere vaster
Than the stretching eye
Can stretch its poor old legs
Fireflies still flicker and buzz within our hearts
Flicker through the wintering month
Of midsummer on the loose
On the wing,
Oh, sweet morning, dawn away the cold
Dawn me to my love, oh, love of mine.
“Pt II: Leaky Faucet”
Piano keys move on their own
They read the blueprints
And process music out
Into my mind
Into the odds and ends
Into the happy ending odds
When will life complete this melancholy circle?
All the pain all the loss
All the gray shy aways
In six long days will close away
Will halt to another chapter of the year
Another dozen roses left to pick
Left to give up to you
Another dozen months left to pick
From the garden underneath the palms
Of my poor sore toes
As I reach out on the edge of the moment
And plummet down the sweet ravine
The day is just a spoiled plumb
An apple-worm in the trees that sprouted
Through the garden of a dozen roses
The day is out of date
Out of time, out of bait
To catch a wild, savage swordfish
By the lip, by the slow drip of time
To hook a whopper
As time drips slowly on
To fill an ocean of void
To rust upon our shoulders
Leaky faucet is leaky fantasy
Leaky escapes to squeak by
The guards at the gates
Just leak through a crack in the door
To escape the circle
To escape the melancholy runarounds
Caucus race, caucus way
Leaky kisses drool down our chins
Turpentine kisses, lipgloss and caterpillar love
Flirt around us like fireflies flirt with our eyes
Flirt with the night, coy expression
Coy gesture, coy hic-ups
Bumble bee bumbling around
Tries not to leak out the secret
Like a mumbling faucet
It’s not a blabbermouth
Words trail down the page
Dripping so slowly as paragraphs grow
Drips down the page like blood
That scary dream
I was caught in the act
A guilty-looking dream
It’s such an empty thought
For hurting you, my love, my world be dark
Be lost inside the night
Never will I hurt your heart
For love is a sentimental heart
So life is a sentimental way
A sentimental notion
To spill the flowering river of a mind
A sentimental kiss of turpentine and smooth lips
Leaky faucet leaks on through the night
Through the eyes that focus
Through the grass that’s greener
Outside this melancholy circle
Through the tall garden
I will forever life for you
You, my one, my only love
Bumblebee
You stole a kiss
Like candy from a baby
Like a bumblebee pollen heist
Hopping through a dandelion garden
Oh, such frail wings
To feed your crying need
Bumbling around
You fumbled like a lazy moan
Stumbled like a stone
Like the cops and robbers game
The game you played almost do you win
Police cars still moan on
Bumblebee still moans
Down the hills of dandelion
You stole him like a kiss
Stole me like a child
Silly Old Bear: An Ode to Pooh
Empty again...Bother...
He's lost his honey to the road
Wavy as the rocky ocean sea
Wavy as the last tidal wave goodbye
Sore thumb of mine, You're empty
As empty as my heart without the honey
As a crust without the meat
Oh, honey of mine, Where have you gone so very fast?
To leave my heart as empty as Pooh's honey pot?
My nose stuck within my curiosity,
As the bees buzz on for more,
More tears to fill my eye, my pot my heart,
And drown my vision,
Oh, bother me, my love, I'm such a foolish bear,
One more telephone ring...1...2...3…4...
It rings so cold, so dead
Like a grouchy clam on the sandy bleating shores of all you are to me,
AS the phone rings on, Just does time fly on,
Slowly as the Frisbee turns on,
slowly as this earth
Turns its paranoid head again
To start a new and empty honey pot day
Like an orange basketball
So tightly-balanced on someone's greedy fingertip
When does she stop her screws to realize
She means the world to me
As much as she turns her paranoid head
So I turn with her
As much as the new and empty days slither on
So I wait AS she waits as well
As sure as the sun tips over the horizon,
So a new one rises on the new full honey pot day,
Waiting for a silly old bears like me.
Sunset Sunrise Sunbreath Sunbyes
The sun tips over the horizon
Like a cup of water off a weary table
Look at the sun
And hurt your eyes
Your face never hurt my eyes
For ‘tis more beauty in those eyes
Than the sun beats light onto the earth
Circling like hungry vultures
Have prowled over you
As they sneak over my sun
Covers up your face
As if I’ve closed my eyes
A worn out photo lies tired in my leather palm
It holds all the secrets
As the photos in my mind
Playing back the mysterious secrets in our life
As I see you, so you see me
Every sleeping and waking day
Oh, sun under the clouds
Sneak away underneath the covers
From underneath the lampshade
Directing the light away from my direction
Oh, sunshine, oh me oh my
Blurrrrrrr Pt. I-II
“Pt I: Awake Asleep Awake”
Awake, asleep
Awake, asleep
Awake, asleep
Awake, asleep
Awake, asleep…
Skipping human, broken record
Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping
Always now, on the spur, on my life, just a blur
Awake, awake, awake
Never in the present toiling the bubbling boil
Life is but a dream
Asleep, awake
Asleep, awake
Asleep, awake
Asleep, awake
Asleep, awake…
My life is a clock
Watches never stop
Steady horse rhythm
Clip~clop~clip~clop…
“Pt II: The Wrong Side of the Bed”
It’s hard to see
The other side of the world
The other side of friends
From the wrong side of the world
The wrong side of her face
It’s hard to see beneath
Skin
Opaque
Life is a blur
You’re not supposed to see
To Sleep Your Last Sleep
The grass is not as beautiful
As her tired heart
The grass is not as green
As the illness in her breath
The grass is not as smooth
As her wavy, lively hair
The grass is not as wet
As she, after the rain migrates downstream
The grass is not as mischievous
As her bullet from her rifle’s mouth
The grass is not as sharp
As the grayest grays of her eyes
The grass is not as lonely
As her empty arms, stretched to the wind
The grass is not as lively
As her cabin, dead to the bone
The grass is not as plentiful
As the wisdom cinders fading out
The grass will not die soon
Like her curtain eyelids will descend
Today, oh, lawns so vast
When she closes the curtains
They close their very last
The Earwig
Earwig was so helpless
When the shoe stepped on him
And laughed in his thrashed face
Humans are so bleak
To that tiny little bug
He never hurt a flea
And certainly never a human
Now he pays the price of being born
Into an earwig’s body
He suffers slowly
He suffers stone pain
Life flashing before him
Like truck headlights
In the stone of night
I, the wear in the tear
I, the grease smeared on the street
I, the earwig, easy meat…
Pigeons
In your cramped little city
Of highs and lows
Of takers and taken
They’re shut out
With their coo-coo
They’re everywhere you’ll never think to hide
You’ll never let them know
Never let them see you cry
They’re a cramp to call your own
A cramp in your style
A cramp in your side
A cramp to your crayon
In the blink of a smile
In the blink of a bird’s eye view
Pigeons, taken
Why do they still come back?
Nuzzle
We move, forth the grass
Littering our summit
Forth like a fish
Gracefully switching direction
In his bowl, in his bubble
His lonely home of blank water
As he grazes forth his summit
Watching the world twirl
Like a ball upon his nose
Like a spool of his twiny tail
There’s no logic in his laugh
In his grassy lazy summit
In his blank staring bubble
There’s no direction to his dance
For it switches in time in days
Like a lamp, kissing our summit goodnight
Like a fishbowl, kissing us goodnight.
Seesaw
When your foot descends
Into the hyper ocean shore
Your foot quivers with excitement
Kicking up moistured dust
On the ocean dance floor
You’re afraid to go further
Over the bouncy seesaw waves
You gather courage like acorns
Pointlessly collected
Why is what you ask?
Why go further?
You’re afraid to get wet
Afraid it is too cold
Or too aggressive
For your rancid bones
Beyond their expiration dates
Into beyond reality
Over reactions
Over thinkings
Over seesaw waves
Turtle + Snail Pt. I-IV
“Pt I: A Trip to the Beach”
We baste upon the scene
We’re pasted upon the beach
Crammed with people to our necks
Crammed with insignificance
We’re unnoticed as the fleas upon their hair
As the three-ring circus
Basting upon the scene
Searching for the sun’s trapdoor
Whispering in our language
Seeking the same pretty scent
As we baste upon the scene
“Pt II: The Shifting Graveyard”
Every dog needs a place
To bury his bones
To assure the life of what he loves
May it be another six feet under
Under our feet, under our song
His treasures sit and wait
Unnoticed as the fleas upon his hair
Unnoticed as the inside of a seashell
Only we can see
Turtles and snails
Only know what’s underneath the soil
What’s pinned between our syllables
As we’re crammed to our necks
To the bones under the dirt
Crammed with insignificance
As we sit on the beach, on the scene
All we know is who we are
In an endless crowd of nobodies
It’s tough to see the forest from the trees
Tough to see the inside of a seashell
Turtle and snail, me and you
As pure as a newborn’s little nose
As the first words we ever said
“Pt III: Green Thumb”
The leprechaun so gay and dancing
Is lucky to be alive
Is lucky to be so lucky
The leprechaun knows more than you and I
Knows why mushrooms wiggle in the ground
Knows why people attend shores
The deep enigma in it every single day
Basting in the sand
Showing off their brand new bathing suits
To all the girls and boys
Just lazing in a void of life
In a wind of salt and sand
In the air, within their hair
Just staring at the sun
It’s such a fake-accent way of life
Way to drown the hours in a day
As they live their fake accents
Leprechauns watch in dismay
Conversing with turtles
Aquaintancing with snails
They’re just not worth the time of day
In the burning single summer sway
The leprechaun knows
What plunges down the rainbow?
Plunges down the waves
That shoves you out of the water
To catch a little dip
That’s all you were after
How we graze the garden
At the ripe edges of creativity
“Pt IV: 7”
There are seven seas
Of seven deadly sins
This is where they live
This is where they’re trapped
Playing games of simon-sayes-dictatorship
Every head biting to scale the totem pole
And claim the pinnacle with a flag
Everyone wants everything
Like a magnet wants to suck a refrigerator dry
Like a parasite, sucking the strength from its size
I play dodge ballsround the circle
Balls are thrown to draw me in
To edge
To class
To mainstream
Seven fingers say hello
Hello, hello, hello…
Seven dirty seas perform seven dirty deeds
Dirty with sand, dirty with salt dirty with sin
It has been so deadly to so many
To so many, to so many, to so many…
So many melancholy moments
Dreaming of the perfect fantasies
Growing slower with sadness
As the hours fray away
Off my wall of bricks
They see us as
All in all
Another brick in the all
Another face in the crowd
Another string to the violin’s chest
Their music was so flat
As flat as the bricks
Those molds then fray away
Turtle to snail
No smile…
Rhinocerotica pt.II: Umbrella Hums
The crowd absorbs it all
With a drizzling applause
With eyes of faded Grey
I’m surrounded in a sea
Of a thousand conversations
People talking to themselves
I’m quiet as a house
As a coward in the corner
As a shelter in a conch shell
They’re as boring as the sun behind the clouds
As boring as the rain under umbrellas
As vacant as it all
Nothing matters
Just me in the shelter of the corner
In the shelter of the rain
They must feel so vacant
Under their umbrellas
Bashful
Hiding in the shadow
Of the fog sleeping in the glass
Alone and exposed
No one sees my songs
No one hears my tears
Shower curtains, don’t let me in
Don’t let them touch my skin
I’ll wash the wounds away
Behind the curtains
Under the doors
Away from such a lampshade life
My shadow’s rubbing off
Like the powder in the deep night sky
She slipped into my dreams
From my quote-unquote reality
Why, oh, why, only her?
Momewrath Mumble
Tumble, Tumble, Mumble, Mumble
Every game of croquet shame
Every curiously-crooked cane
Every arrow shares direction
As we follow romance affection
Baby bonnet, shading sonnet
Somewhere mousetraps dance upon it
When paintbrush sleep wets the bed
The Queen of Hearts dances instead
As circus lions are spoon-fed
Mumbles, mumbles, crumble, crumble
I pop balloons and eat the stumble
I rock the boats and flock the sheep
Match the dice, stir the sleep
End the fight, blur the scene
Mumble mumble, football fumble
Touchdown scars on ending field day
Burning the blame in hair of gray
Feeling the shame of being clay
Feeling the bite of a year’s delay
Runaway, Runaway, Runaway bug,
Hide under your umbrella rug
Sleep in your bed so warm and snug
Tear my heart from the wild pug
Deny my pardon steal my hug
Stumbleshy Stumbleshy Stumble on your lie
Hurt me with my own army
My own army ants
You’re merely a stain upon my heart
No longer what has been
No longer deeds of sin.
Tug
Chug-a-chug chug
Over the waves I dug
Tug-a-tug tug
Tugged over the out-stretched hands that I outreached
Overcome, Over-go
Bow-tied up you were
For me to be amazed
Clouds of perfume smoke
Float like balloons
I grow I shrink
I learn I teach
I sow I reap
Oh, my darling in my arms
I tug at your shirt
I tug at your heart
I tug at my collar
I’m the ugly boy
With a gorgeous girl
I never thought to have
Easy come Easy go
Easy reap Easy sow
Our love is just too easy to bestow
Yet I never ever know
Why, oh, why so easy
Bug-a-bug bug
A bug in the road
Never stopped us
Too soon is too late
That I’ll hold you again
In the eye-range of the sky
In the midnight of the day
The ocean removes its curtains
Tightens its screws
Removes its garments
And so do we, you and me
In my momentary memories
In our gorgeous tapestries
To reap and sow two and frow
Chug-a-chug chug
Tug boat tugs
On through the two’s and frow’s of life.
Michelle of Shallow Days
I found her, Sleeping on a silver platter
In a field of windmills, directing her dreams
Directing her mind
The skies fill with her, fill with her dreams
Her red hair, dances in the winds
Everything is hers, her balloonflight
Burning her shallow days, her shallow years
Speeding up behind her, directing her dreams
Turning their clockwork turns, oversized propellers
In her shallow field, sleeping on a silver platter
We’re turning yesteryears, turning them to the skies
Swimming in the salty seas
Hovering in purple shallow skies
Dancing with our shadows
Chasing them across the room, she’s so fast
Sleeping on her silver platter, my shadow
Propellor: An Ode to Pinnochio
I’ve got no strings to hold me down
To tie me to my fret and frown
To be placed inside a child’s mind
As he plays with me
Such an airhead is I
But I cannot be settled down
There are no strings on me!
My chubby cheeks are free
To glide on through the air
That’s the pinnacle of liberty
Torch in m hand up high
Book under arm
I am Pinocchio
There are no strings
Under my only armpit
Float away, do I,
There are no strings on me!
There is no hair to tie up
To the ground
To braid together
I’m a bald balloon
And there are no strings on me!
Juxtapose
Balloons
Searching for a ceiling
Searching for a sky
Searching for a child’s hand to rest in
Balloon of a dull sky
Search for us
Search for our childish hands together
Connected
Like bread to butter
Like our names printed to balloons
Searching, for us, for you and me
To rest, to sleep
To park its rubber back, in our little hands
Clapping together, like a clam from end to end
Never to divide our hands tonight
In the ascension of our names upon balloons
To the light, to our child hands
To a dull sky, a ceiling in our grasp tonight.
Don't Aim Low: An Ode to Dali
On the wall, I stand
Backed up to the brawny tree
An apple shivers on my head
As scared as me
For what we see in front of us
So rearing in the dust
William Tell, do not aim low
For the apple of your eye
For my shaking heart under my skin
Don’t aim low, oh, bow-man
Stay within the mercy
Dripping down the sky’s freeways
Simmer down the flow
Aim high, for the fruit upon my head
Leave me standing, when tomorrow comes
When the arrow comes
To choose the sacrifice
To kill the calf, instead of me
Oh, arrow, don’t aim low
Elbow Tree Pt. I-II
“Pt I: Thousands Have Sat”
Under the tree
Thousands have sat
Making their first times special
Making their last times to remember
Age never slowed this ancient tree
For he never ever moves, being a tree
Bony branches fray off
Bony as the elbows it bends on
Under the ancient tree
Nothing ever lasts
Everything just never was and never will
The branches strand so stout and still
Bent like elbows ‘round the corners
Rules are meant to be bent
Like hinges on a door
On the inchworm’s spine
Crawling up the bony branches
Spaces are meant to be filled
Like the minds under the tree
Like an etch-a-sketch shaken up and stirred
The elbow tree bends around our needs
Winds around the crooked trail
With crooked elbows and a crooked little cane
“Pt II: Crab Apple Mess”
In the ground he planted in
In the descending field
A chorus of cloned trees
Aged to the bone
Age to the groaning heart
He’s seen them come and go
He’s seen them all
He sits lonely as the hermit crabs
The naked elbow tree
In a mess of crab apples
I met this old one
I climbed his sandpaper bark
And sniffed out the apple air
And sniffed out the loneliness
Within his apple heart
This poor old man stuck in the ground
As the air grows old
Mosquitoes come out to feed
And the night comes to life
Over fuzzy mountains
The magnifying glass
Will bring us all together
To show us up close
Personal
In a magnifying glass fire
All the trees will burn
When they tried to over think
The simplicity within
The Doppelganger
A haunting tale
A haunting figure
Dark on the wall
Incomplete
Without the one he loves
The one of all
The one of his heart
A haunting tale
A haunting soul abstract
He lost the deepest part of him
The first layer of the cake
A stomach not yet satisfied
He took his bubble baths
Soap guzzles up the tears
Drooling down his filthy cheek
The lights but willow dim
He wallows underneath the skin
Beneath the safety of the waves
Beneath the nausea of the nose
Beneath the covers of the bed
To hide away
Watching the weather change its mind
Cup + Saucer
Curls, swirls, turns, flash and dart
Frightened feathers flutter through the air
A caucus race of faceless, nameless mimes
Her wooden face, melting in her cinders
Her dance, reflecting in my eyes
Never-ending labyrinth of bashful ways
Swinging to her house in a rain gutter
Fleeing to her wooden, stale day
Her ever-so-poisoning picturesque
The plotless charade of blindness
On the careless bed of roses
On the spot, on the mind
Not a dilly dally day, on her timely gown
Just a blank burden
Never lost, never found
Drizzle
The clouds graze
Casting their fluttering gaze on the earth
The earth peals its lies through its teeth
As inchworm struggles on through
Middle hinge bends like the equator
The wind-up toys chatter and wander
Flatter and clutter
Clutter the earth
Inchworm’s curse upon the shoeshine parlor’s snore
Chuckles like the cloud’s pouring bore
Knocking on my bedtime door
Whispering secrets
As I hold the stars in my hand
Sleeping in my arms
As I descend from the million-piece jigsaw puzzle
Trailing the clouds that graze the speckled sky
Daintily woven in the moonlight…
Over The Windowsill
Over the windowsill I wait for you
Viewing night in a darkened day
Shoulder heavy from a tired burden
Over the windowsill I stare for you
I wait daymonths for your embrace
For a daymoon to forsake my eyes
Over the windowsill I yearn for you
Tears burn my vision’s grasp
I am incomplete without you
Over the windowsill I sit
Glass eyes climb the velvet sky
Venture for a single soul, a night wing
Over the windowsill I nap
I have waited much too long to see you fly
Now it’s time that I must die
Over the windowsill I lay
Under loss and wool of blankets
And inside my eyes still try to graze
You are my love, my only true…
Wunce
We're just one of the few
One of the odd
One of the strange
One of the proud
No more one by one
We're not one of the one by one
Count the latter steps
They add and add and add...
One is more and more again
We're one in a million
Mustered to two in a million
A hole in one wall of bricks
Two peas in a pod of peas
Is that what they say?
Is that what they think?
We muster up to more
More than a million people
Placing their blank judgement
Placing their cold shoulders on our backs
We're more than one
You, my one and only
As beekeepers creep upon the nest
So I creep upon you
And kiss your soothing neck
I dug the hole of life solo
Until you giggled by
I sat inside the old caboose
Red and swollen with paint
As the train zoomed on and on and on...
Zooming by without a passion to behold
No spare tire left to spare
You, my one and only
My one my two my three
My everything
The screw curls down deep
Descends into the wood's tender meat
To hold the lumber down
To hold the fort down
To hold us in the cavity of life
Digging on and on and on...
To someday hit the other side
We'll end up in China
Meet the maker of it all
Be sure to shake his hand
In hopes he doesn't shake his head
The screw turns on
Muscles into the weight of us
Elevating down
The sun was suspended
By the garden of light
Descending on the bashful seas
To give it such a glow
Suspended like a peach
On a frail little branch
I felt you in the fruit, my love,
My love, though, vaster than its garden
Oh, my love, of every little hole
And every sunset
And every train that's late,
Through every crowd to calculate
You'll forever be mine,
You, my one and only…
Fritter
When the day is done
Its temper tantrums
There’s nothing to write
The day is frittered away
Like laundry on the line
Set free to the wind
And it was never here
A conspiracy cover-up
Life frays a day
Punched out a stray crumb
From the pulsing loaf of bread
Laundry in the wind
You chase over the hills
We’re all empty days
That are frittered down to
Laundry in the wind…
Act II: Life is but a Slow Decay
Cowardice
There is no more
To rouse or bore
To connect the rings
Or count to forever
There are no dares
There is no more effort
No more urgent energy
There is no now
There is no then
There’re only endings
Abandoned to begin
There is no smile in a coward
There is no appearance
There is no fading tunnel
The mirror’s cruel approach
Never does it see a coward
There is no breath
There are no signs
There is no sow to reap
There are no heads or tails
There is nothing in between
No dangling string of questions
There is no hope for puny little me
Spiral Quiet
The string wiggles out a note of music
To sprout out from underneath the soil
As a seed always grows toward the sun
I wiggle out every bear notion
As life but wiggles on
We dodge every watering mouth
Every watering can
That wiggles down into the soil
Leaning on the earth, gaining support
The string stretches out its spine
To creep out a lower note
It’s all too real to be real
Light too bright to see
Airplane too high to see
Breath too fogged to feel
Life but spirals down
Life but wiggles down
Note-by-note
As I scurry away
Hide behind a wall of books
In a library of memories
Curling down
The wiggles get to me
Knot the string up
Quiet isn’t so dizzy in the air
Leave the squirrels be
To hop knee deep in the lawn
To eat as they please
Poet
Words drip and spill
From the tip of my tongue
To the end of the quill
Coil
Rapture
Can you hear the poetry untold?
Can you read what the canister of ink
Withholds?
Poetry becomes a way of life for me
Every word is flown
Boiling
Tipping over
An episode to spill
Life no longer a straight line
Life flows
In waves
In oceans of words
Like a respirator
The line no longer dead
Steady
Like a trail of hiccups
Bold
Age and Dust
Antiques sit in the dusty cellars
Collecting dust like collecting baseball cards
Antiques sit in museum shops
Bored to their knees
With enormous price tags
Old and gray
Over our heads
Over the hill
Older than your birthday spool
Strays and strands away
They’re auctioned off
Nervous on the stage
Spinning plates
To raise the stakes
Collecting dust
Collecting age
How old are they?
Why do today what can be done
Tomorrow?
But what is today
But yesterday’s tomorrow?
They’re sewn together
Twenty-four silk hours to spend
Sewn with tiny needles
Today, tomorrow, yesterday
It’s all just old and gray
Prunes wrinkle with age
Antiques shiver on the stage
Cold as a cold shoulder
Watch the children
They’ll always break the dishes
And ruin everything…
Woe pt. I-III
Pt. I: Seasons Parade
Oh, woe the river flows that never gets a rest
And takes a breather to relax its heavy hips
Current always flows
Current always woes every single critter to sleep
Inside the forest labrynths
Inching on to cover more ground
Oh, the summer color
Caught inside the nets
That drag up all the foolish fish
That fell for it
That never sniffled out the traps
Oh, woe the world down
Down the drain and down to sleep
To call the night smooth winter
The day a rugged summer
Seasons parade out the day
That rots like armpits
Feelings burst like balloons
Filled with feelium
To the brim
To the brow of the highest mountain
Dog smiles drool down its fuzzy mouth
All is mold all is clay
That hasn't seen the light of day
Hasn't seen the fingers pressed between its chubby hips
To create and mold
Curl up a grin
Curl up a nap
Oh, woe the climbing cheeks
On your open face
Oh, tongue of mine,
The sharpest tool
That dug into the ground
To remove the roots
And bury down the seeds
Like the card trick players
Shuffle every card so careful
A tisket a tasket
To fool your eyes
To trick your clever smile
Oh, woe the sucker in the trap
Of seasons parade down the street
Oh, woe the humans
But lost in its clutch
Time is a grasp, a trap
Gripping ever so tight
To every season
To someday cause an end
And let the next roll in
Oh, woe the marching sands
That march in parade
To catch another victim's smile
WIth the drip of a kiss
And the wink of an eye
Boredom by
Pt. II: Yellow Sidewalk
Woe the one who caught the cold
And wears the red-nosed reindeer nose
And breathes a yellow throat
You become the sidewalk
The the rain drips on
That hte crowds all congregate round
The world is a war
Turning him into a ghost town mind
As I peer down the empty road
Street light stares at me
With bright eyes in mine
The vacant night road
Oh, woe your ritten throat
That has to move over
And make room for the disease
That decieded to move in
Without permission
I caught more shade
That fell and splashed on the grass
When I shook the tree
So I won't shiver from the sun
That grinds into my child head
Oh, woe the sunset bruise
That swells so thick
Like tangerines
To ruin your smooth breath
And make your yellowed throat drip
The world is your war
That seems to always win
And shove your naughty nose
In the corner for a punishment
You may have won the day
But you shan't win the war
Illness is so buzzing
To the beehive underneath your breast
That beats a steady beat
And mix disasterous your yellow drip
That stains the walls that hold it in
Oh, woe the tired heart
That the flue has tired down and yellowed in
Woe the weary toes that still battle the day
Along the sun-beached sidewalk way.
Pt.III: Tundra
Hair draped like curtains over face
Eyelids concealing eyes
Like shudders blocking the window's vision
Bars over mouth
So the bats are not set free
Black sheep, black sheep
Hasn't any wool
To be warm inside the cold
Of the tundra night
Draped down on us
One star at a time
One dream at a time
Woe the black moods of my heart
That long for a little color
To brighten the sunrise
Under my eyelids
I wear away my weariness
Listening to the silence
Until I am awake
Until the winter wears so wearily away
Nothing is alive except the hiss of the fan
Making air tremble, shiver
Oh, woe my fatigue head
Molded into bed
To blend into the dreams
I paint under eyelids
The balloon is almost heavy
Carrying me away
Foot falls almost fell
Candy almost real to my touch
Oh, woe the river flows
Neath the tundra snow
Construction, Disconstruction pt. I: introductory
A heap of rubble,
Rubbling around in circles,
Waiting to be found,
Waiting to be something quite heapingly different,
Bricks, Glass, Wood, Dashed from the past,
A lonely crane,
Cursed to a lonely field,
To sit through all eturnity,
Waiting to be found,
Waiting for a driver in his chair,
To weave his magic spells,
To build something quite heapingly different,
A man, Climbs into the crane's dusty old cockpit,
Certain of his task he must recieve,
To build the heaping rubble,
Up to the sky,
And down to the earth,
Then build another, another, another...
To build a vast and cindered city,
Oh, promises lie ahead!
Construction Disconstruction Pt. II: The Descending Crane
The crane descends over your head,
To build the thing that we all dread,
To lay another brick,
To build another four-wall exstence,
Nevermind its happy smile,
Its claw grabs every bitten piece,
To build you another, another, another...
Oh, madness of every shape,
To construct a wall of every odd old shape,
And every cold, new one,
The crane rides high up in the sky,
To build castles way up high,
The crane so mighty as the sun,
He's the tallest one of all,
The bully of the crowd,
AS his claw descends upon your head,
To cast you up so high,
Like the twinkle of the pepper in your nose,
To tickle you and make you sneeze,
Such a tricky thing,
To ever come our way today.
Construction Disconstruction pt. III: Claw Machine
Step right up, Step right up,
What might be your fancy?
Play the game and pick your prize right off the apple tree,
The claaw does all the work,
As you man the joyful joystick,
If onions make you cry,
You may try another fruit to feast upon,
Please don't be shy my precious swan,
For there's only air between start and end,
Only multiplying bricks, between past and future,
As your prizes pile up, heaping every voice you spit out,
Topping every question you think up,
For you just want another prize to tide you over,
Through the cold shoulder of a night,
Another, another, another...
The claw descends above your prize,
To be gentle to your needs,
To be your slave from start to end, past and future,
Yet another prize..glutton...
Construction Disconstruction Pt IV: Wrecking Ball
The onion trickles your tears,
Out of your moist, sad eyes,
One more time, one more brick,
We build castles in the sky,
To wash ideas from their heads,
Brainwashers,
For cleanliness is godliness,
For emptiness is uselessness,
We build a heaven in the sky,
To make the sheep all ponder, "what is life?"
The crne built the castles to scrape the sky,
As blue as our sadness,
As blue as my awakening eye,
As the awakening wrecking ball,
So round, to flatten every house,
TO trample every delicate garden,
To rain on every parade,
They placed it on a crane,
TO clean up their precious work,
Swaying back and forth from start to end,
Think, Thank, Thunk,
Your heaping prizes topple to the floor,
They were hung with care like bricks into cement,
Wrecking ball comes to rescue you,
From the things that you dread,
The nightmares waiting for you in your bed,
As the bricks are smashed away,
Wrecking ball still sways,
To clean your mess you created,
You molded, you loved,
Wrecking ball, to wreck your run,
To save you from yourself,
to save the bricks,
From multiplying to numbers to high to see,
To heights too high to climb,
To black distances just to black to reach.
Construction, Disconstruction Pt.V: Final Solemn Bow
Everything was meant to be
Everything was meant to pass
Those bricks never felt the sullen blast
Of a further wrecking ball
The crane never saw the future
Of life, of it moment of confinement
The claw still moves through every glutton boy
Wanting every carnival prize to ever come across
Such a tragic tale, of a thought on paper
Of construction and disconstruction
Of an eager-tasting start to a bitter-sounding end
Oh, life is just a race to your death
To kiss your death and wink your clever eye
Is to kiss your life and hold it in your arms
Such a tragic tale of three drastic roles
The crane is so tall and vast…
The claw, greedy as a hungry bear
Greedy as the hand on the joystick
Wrecking ball, so big and tough
Come to wipe the onion tears away
One by one, again and again…
Boomerang Pt. I: Karma
I tug on the rope
To pull you back a ways
There’s war on the tips of the rope
Tug of war
Taking off by albatross
To climb the sky’s blue vision
War is parasite
Living upon the living
Dying within the dying
Boomerang sows
And reaps the wind back again
Al these artificial people
Filled with tons of chemicals
Sow and reap back down again
Inhale and exhale all the retched dust
The go-around came back-around
Snuck behind your crafty back
Actions are reactions to yourself
The truth is always brutal when you lie
When the boomerang comes knocks you in the hat
People are monsters in my closet
Chemicals stir restless in them
Scare me half to death
I tug at the boomerang under my belt
I toss it away but still it follows on
To bring back a little this and that
The boomerang blood boils, fevers,
Through ever accent
Australian or not
Karma drips off the wide round earth
Like tears off ever-round wide eye
The earth is the eye
Of reaction
The earth is the seed
Within our soiled minds
Boomerang pt. II: Root
The earth is but a bare seed
Planted in every mind
To depend on us
To grow upon us
We learn about it
Every soiled step
They hand on every limp word
Like a quarter hangs on to pockets
Every limpid word
Frozen into poetry
Dripping icicles
Roots are spread
Grip the soil tight
Boomerang spiral
Cuts through the breeze like butter
Cuts through the open wound of honesty
Boomerang whistle
Buzzes on like a kazoo chorus
Pavilion chorus group
In a busy park
In a busy heart
With busy blood.
Rhinoceurosis Pt. I: Eden's Tongue is Never Wrong
God made the rain
Squirt through his palms
Sifting together
To make sound a sweet applause
God made thunder
Bowling rocks down alley trains
Sprouting up from underground
Shuffling soil
To roar out loud and clear
God coughed up Adam
God coughed up Eve
Even forced them both to leave
They’re just not worthy of her fruit
The trees may stay, but we may not
Eden’s tongue has spoken
Humanity is damned
But God loves us all
God loves every lamb
Be not afraid
Of thunder and rain
That’s how it must have all began
For we have answers never questioned
To make life as idle as the day
Portrait Picturesque pt I
I cannot breathe
Without thinking of you
I see your face
Tattooed on my mind
Shady like the light
I’m under your shade
Your shady eyes
That I dive into
I die inside… I lie, I cry
Burning like the water
Severed in the sand
I need your hug
Your love’s embrace
I can show you
I can show you the night
I need your eyes upon my eyes
So shady like the light
Unlikely to go out
I need your essence breath and yearning days of lust
And I need your loving hug after the wheelbarrow dust
We can sail away, in our bubble bath skies
Under our clouds
Under our moonshade
Under our midnight skies
Just you and I…
Rowboat
Rowboat squeaks a tenor tune
To entertain the lake
And glide over the film of waves
And cross the curtains to the center stage
Rowboat’s life is but a dream
Gliding safely down the stream
As thou plot thickens
So does the water thicken into clay
Rowboat is stuck not to move
High and dry on the clay
As the raindrops fall
From way up high
Like dead flies from clouds
He squeaks a clever tenor tune
To thrust himself out of bed
But still there’s no cigar under his tongue
‘Twas the beginning of a new day
Now his life sunsets
AS the sun is dipped into the placid water
Like a cracker in your steamy coffee
Sitting on a tired coffee coaster
In your living room of clay
Doorway
Blank
I wish I were
Opportunities all scurry
Round
Till they choose to
They bang on my door
Opportunity knocks
I descend the stairs
To the bottom of the rocks
I will scurry up
For what is wrong
Must be right
What descends
Must once again ascend
For every face has two sides
For every evil twin
Has a good that bangs
On my door
Come greet the opportunity
Waiting at the door
Get wrapped up in your life
In your blanket hug
There’s no such boundary
No such wine
Hidden in water
Juices Flown
Juices flown
The bloody poison apple
Bookworm burrows through
All the apple meat
Trees bleed sap
A poisoned wound
Open to the open air
Like a rust-red apple
That has rusted away
That has bled away
Every drop of life
That ever seemed to ever be
Juices flown
Trees bleed apples
To the grass floor
To poison us
And drug our deaths.
All
We were in
We were out
We were thin
We were stout
Thus is us
Thus is roundabout
The kisses separate
And connect the dots again
Hid under our arms
Peeked out a wink of the nose
Splashing paint everywhere
But within the lines of the paper
I found you
Around the tree
Around the flaky crab apple
Thus is us
We're nothing without us
All in all is left
All in the air
To live upon
And one for all
All love for thou
Thumb
I wish I were the thumb
Of the five finger group
Sitting helpless under the thumb
I'd call the shots
I'd call the game
On every rain date
I can make up my face
But I can't make up my mind
I broke my mirror into dust
So it will match my face
I need to learn a thing or two
So all that is left is but a thing or two
My eyes grow bigger
Than my tummy buried underground
Too hot to wield to the iron claw
That sat in the fier to turn orange hot
Now it sits in the mud to coll itself off
I just stick out like a thumb in the air
To call upon the opportunities
So I can hitch a ride and cheat
For life is but a race
Survival of forgetful
Survival of the fittest, ripest plumb of them all
Stronger than the other purple velvet fruit
That drip down from the tree
And fall down on your knee
I just stick out like a plumb
The first born shall always lose
And always catch every virus in the air
First born always die first, too
For last shall be first
For first shall be last
Now the thumbs drip down
From everybody's hands
To damn me right down to hell
Elevator included
Frostbite
The pen is mightier than thou sword
Than you and I, of what we will become
The pen is always there, to wear away
To hold light against the night
The pen knows how, he knows your finger's every move
He knows to pivot through the page
To dance, like the cricket as he sniffs the air
To walk down a little different way
Oh cricket, why to wait till night?
Due angeredness or frightenedness?
Due blissfulness or sadness?
The pen is strong, like fuzzy bug
He knows to not let go, To weave through ever word
Due the days, due the nights
Due to every mood we argue through
You never knew, how every cricket forth the land
Voice zigzags to the sky
Like the lonely wolf, like the lonely lover
The pen, more mighty than thou sword
Than thou's every clenched desire
Mightier than every ray potential
Swordfish
Oh, my friend of every hour, minute
Of every day and week
Of every reminisce and ponder
Oh, how this world is a tongue-twister
And how I fall for every little trap
Every single net across the sea of time
To catch a wild swordfish
With wild, willing bait
What a fool I am, to cast you out like that
Forgive a poor swordfish, love of mine
Sweet forever friend of mine
I never seem to see every side of the world
On every curve about its spherical shape
Forgive me, my precious friend
For blindness of a bat, has taken my sight
Swandive
Flying reindeer, Never learned to steer,
Flying pirate ship, Never learned to hear,
Never wondering a single bitten ponder,
Our hearts dance behind our backs,
Our hair twinges behind our necks,
Our stick-horse race, along the dusty beach,
Tehy carry us by wind, skipping the ocean,
Comforting the stray clouds upon the sky's floors,
Searching for the gloves,
Searching Finding
Whispering their secret, shadowing their faces,
Raggety-ann and Andy, Scurry round the mullberry bush
Finding Searching
For the gloves
I brushly kiss your porcelain face, So immortal to you,
I'm so connected to you,
I'm pierced upon your ballerina lips,
WE're painted in a sunrise bruise,
Descending on us like kites,
Reflectiong in our eyes, As we find the empty gloves,
I am you, You are me, We are us.
Sapling
The baby tree quivers in the wind
Waiting for the gardener
To come and save its scrawny cries
As I keep my head to the air
To see the airplane arrive
With my love so safe inside
Oh, airplane of every quivered arrow
Waiting to be thrusted out
To hit that bullseye like a bull hits the fence
Airplane, quivering in the wind
Like a baby sapling
Like a stallion on the migrate
On the march
Airplane of every soul that travels
The air that floats so nosey around the earth
Wake me up and draw me to the page
With a child hand
Crayon
Scribble
Drool
Saplin in the quivered wind
In the quivered arrow
Nervous of their coming journey
Rhinocerosis Pt. II: Nincompoops
A watched pot never boils
A woken baby never born
A plucked flower never sown
A placid life never flown
The earth is a rubber ball
To the hand of the beholder
Spinning the days
On his finger
Oh, meet the maker
Save your life
This must be how it is
No better explanation
So why try for better?
We’re all mundane
We’re all nincompoops
