MEMORIES are wet streets
reflecting a light
And the distant storm
a table cloth of denial
An edge of coming Winter
razor blades of truth
Endings and beginnings
of wars and songs.
:: 01-24-2019 ::
Tag Archives: #life
Distant Storm
THE CORPSE
There as still and quiet as dead.
Sleeping. ?
Yes.
The walls had grown used to the scene. The dreams tired of the same actors with different faces.
The dead take care of their own.
The corpse lit the room’s lamp and in the gray dark began to work.
It bathed the perpetually sleeping body that lay in bed. Trimmed the hair and applied blush to it’s cheeks.
The sleeping know nothing of the awakened world; the dead know nothing of the sleeping but that they sleep the deepest of all. Dripping, the legs were dried.
The sleeper’s eyes opened.
The corpse closed them with the coldest of fingers.
Placing the stiff scrub brush upon the nightstand the corpse was pleased with the Sleeper.
And smiled.
:: 01-15-2019 ::
WE’RE MAD
Of course! It is apparently
— so, do you also know?
and how did you realize it
— too, by two’s, four’s
or even more?
We’re mad.
And now it’s written
so there it goes!
A dream, a thought
as a bird does soar
of course! And now,
–now, aren’t you glad.
We’re mad.
:: 01-06-2018 ::
THE TIRED DREAMER
Climbing away
from the dream
went a dreamer
who was alive.
Climbing away
from the dream.
He spoke aloud,
with a tired mouth
which was numb
from his sleep.
Climbing away
from the dream.
In the dark of night
he spoke:
“Awake from the dream!”
He climb away from
the dream into
another.
:: 11-25-2018 ::
THE RA&&IT & THE HAT
WHETHER morticians wear
the makeup of cadavers
or madness is the friendliest
voice makes no difference
you are sick
to believe loud colors
have no mouth
and the trunks of people
grow deeply rooted roads
that have many toll booths
the rich pay for free things
and the poor steal dreams
those dead envy the living
and those alive
feel so dead.
:: 10-27-2018 ::
DEATH’S PASSAGES
No longer a thought
within my brain,
the mortician lay me
down to sleep
a scream i refrained
surfaced as white
within my eyes
that none had bought
my vitals he checked
and thumped my nose
as a creep
then:
a bath and massage
no dance but song
two strong hands
then set my face
arterial embalming
then drain/eject
it’s all the same
the cavity —
aspirate and concentrate
The humming thrumming
burning desire
escaped as soon as with
a pop I fled my skin
and faced the choice
to do it once again.
:: 10-23-2018 ::
TODAY IS THE DAY I DIED
TODAY is the day
I died after the clouds broke
their water and still-birthed
the evening.
I am standing outside
by the edge of a mysterious
forest and the wolves are
sniffing the air but cannot
find me.
I am a ghost. And my house
is the tomb I was born within
but no longer contains me.
There is an empty space
within my heart’s shape
that no artist can draw:
all words too broken
for any poet to express
my emotions.
I was birthed on the day
the beautiful angels were
sick and have now died
as God is sick and the world
a breath away from me.
::: 10-23-2018 ::
LIVING GHOST
EVERYTHING seems so real
the dancing trees
the talking clouds
and how you feel
When i’m alone i’m not here
everything’s gray
the world’s a memory
while you’re away
how does it feel
how does it feel
how does it feel
(to be)
a living ghost
within your skin
screaming in silence
while the world
fades away
when everything
seems so real.
:: 10-19-2018 ::
A Moment In Creation
The miracle of Life stooped lower
A human sleeping awoke
The whole of existence
Breathing and laughing
In an incredible fashion
Kissed Spirit and Heart
Explosive expansion —
A universe born!
:: 10-15-2018 ::
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