multicolored venom pouring everywhere and anywhere; the quicksand drip that holds you in its snare, your beads and denim – psychedelic malice marble overdrive and underrun: the mortal day, the everlasting fun, corona borealis – sepsis and thalidomide, darkness on the edge of town, danger, joy, and habit going down, but we can say we … Continue reading "multicolored venom"
Faces, voices ...
the silent coast the frigid dawn the lonely trek he's been upon the mist that came the things he missed the meeting that was once a tryst the former boast the queen the pawn the game a wreck and curtains drawn the fog of blame the one last twist the world is flat apologist
we are we were we meant to be coerced now into liberty we're free to chose and free to lose and free to pay our increased dues from sea to shining growing sea a trending bit of travesty we were we weren't we didn't know and it was so damn long ago united we lie … Continue reading "united we lie"
the boardwalk summer: low tide and high feeling, a helpful bit of sun along the way, and music, like a soul-possession engine -- a tastes-like-cinnamon- or-taffy day a kiss behind the pier: a running stallion, a dancing mare with yellow tangled hair, a range of wooden slats for many horses, a galloping within the blare … Continue reading "cinnamon or taffy"
In the fading light of tomorrow, Every wish gets weighed with great precision On the edge of the lonely island, Where the river fluxes into indecision And I wander along the cliffside, Hoping to find a sign to use, or borrow — But there’s nothing but gold, and rhythm, In the fading light of what’s … Continue reading "In the fading light of tomorrow…"
the truth’s not broken, it’s been pulled apart and carefully resequenced for effect
whispered, “give me all the Colors…” scrambled, found, but soon set Free whispered, “we can now be Lovers…” strange, but how Things came to be raised within a house of Wonder, sent into a world of Fear, whispered, “give me all the Colors, but don’t bring Them, bring Them here”
Upon this day, in Nineteen-Eight, She came forth to some small acclaim, Within a people tinged with shame But whose regard for tribe was very great — No, she would not be second-class, Nor bathe in some subservience To customs made of little sense Nor what to her was meaningless, or crass, So burst she, … Continue reading "A Moral Theory of Biscuits"