Tar-Black Butterfly Wings (Poem)

I'd recently ended a week,

one much darker than most,

soaked in tremulous visions most would want to forget,

my mind a labyrinth of troubled butterflies with wet wings and too much space

yet no exit...

When

one evening I sat on a cliff of sadness holding my shadow's hand.

Serene and motionless

my shadow ran its darkness around my fingertips

slowly

lacing a dangerous caress

its two pale eyes hooded as full moons behind charcoal clouds

staring blinkless at endless questions

perched midair within a grasp at the edge of my cliff.

"Go ahead," I mumbled softly

And when at last it had its fill,

my neck a drained story,

I asked my sinister smiling shadow,

"what kept you so long?"

as I hung suspended for a beautiful moment

above tar black darkness,

my butterfly wings at last free to flee

slicing shadow from me,

moon from cloud.

Yolk and a Burnt Night (Poem)

The dawn had just cracked her egg upon the sky,

and spread its color in wide sweeping strokes

mixing yolk and burnt night,

when I heard their trill and song.

At once distant yet outside my head meters away,

they appeared as blotches of ink against a mottled tangerine sky,

hopping amongst flecks of water that took the hue of blood against the sunrise.

There existed a sense of harmony in their cacophony

as if a hand were orchestrating them like shadow puppets

dancing them along the edge of their birdbath world

whirling them in unfathomable geometric motion to the other side.

There existed in that orchestration extreme violence of sound

a staccato chirping rising and falling in excited waves,

cresting ruffled feathers and slamming into half-opened window

glazed over with my early morning breath,

watching and rubbing their song into existence with...

Mustard colored air drifted insolently above him

touching his lungs with pain

smearing his sunrise with sadness-colored dreams

while meters perhaps miles away the sound of lives popping continued.

At once distant yet directly inside his head,

cannons like rounded metal teeth blinked themselves into life

and shattered skyline with dirty streaks of smoke snaking over his way in arcs.

There existed a deathly lull within his shallow trench,

dug by his hands commanded by another

moving  him to sleep even as others and their parts

danced in different directions to a booming tempo.

There lived an ugly reminder in the muzzle's manic moan

a hush and a click rolling under  his hands

in a simple pattern

as a simple tooth sticking out of the earth

while hurt spreads across fields like swaths of old gum.

A Lady's Web...

The other night a nightmare clung to me.

I dreamed of following an old woman down an immense pathway covered in thousands of doors. Each door we passed I would look at lovingly, even when each door slowly turned into a spider's web. As soon as it turned into a web the woman would reach into one of the strands and pluck out some flowers, handing them to me, while exclaiming "how delicious!" I would take them, smiling, but suddenly become revolted by the smell, drop them in a panic as horrid thoughts raced through my mind, clouding reason. When they hit the floor I would suddenly smile stupidly, and reach out for another bouquet that she had waiting for me at the next door web.

I'm glad I awoke!

Mortality of a 20th Century Girl (Poem)

One girl in the corner: ignored, confident.

three girls on the floor: beautiful, splendid, ignorant. 

years whistle by – one in the corner a portion of life,

three on the floor skeletons in flight,

faces masked with sunken eyes. 

One risen to the sky,

three marching in a splendid funeral procession.

Residents Reared Right (Poem)

recapitulate! reiterate!

resist revolution’s rancid raving –

runaways reason, regarding rightfully restored rectories.

robbery! [richness rears rudeness]

rundown resorts rumble, relinquishing reality,

realizing raw resources,

realizing reinvigorated revolution. 

reduction! reports! reassess!

redirect rich risk rinsing,

ridiculing regrets royalty residents.

rich rinsing?  

robbery! rape! 

reaffirm revolution’s raving.

Pale Moon (Poem)

She, like wind changing on skin,

dusk winking slowly to darkness.

She,

Spring unraveled and

lazy Summer sunshine. 

She, Falls’ fire on a thousand fields,

tumbling over,

rushing to Winter, blooming out,

a wet leaf heavy with summer sun. 

He, one of those searching for his season,

searching for changes in her

winter breath,

where she: Pale Moon,

holds him,

drifting in her candle-smooth tides.