winter night image

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anywhere but down

how can I express myself honestly and still ring the hunchback’s bell
step into the sun with no collective gasp
hide truths in cobwebbed corners while yanking those thick hemp ropes
the ugliness in one’s heart is never to be plucked precisely off
an engorged wood tick on Samson’s skull, hidden deep in his glorious mane
efforts are like force feeding dying cattle, they will produce no more meat
no milk from the teats of their mothers, they lost footing long ago to rot
forget the suffering herds, they passed when the silos were abandoned
and there should be no cheap corn in their stomachs anyway
foreshadowing on the farm, just look at that rooster ’cause it ain’t pointin’ anywhere but down
this is in not a barometer of my particular emotional position
merely words floating in my head that I had to get out

skeleton stallion

skeleton stallion

 

words are for stories

I am sorry for not following your footprints
you know how we want to blaze our own trails
I’m more like the one who hides in the wild brambles along someone else’s path
stopping to pick the gathering moss from my toes
hoping my feet will stain a lovely shade of flowerless green
so I won’t need to buy socks
(too often my happy spirit falls out my sock holes)
damn, I don’t darn well
I am sorry for not visiting your fine table at tea time
sipping is a lost art and I become dumbstruck at the sight of delicate porcelain tuele
I can cower behind a steaming Starbuck’s Venti
latte, latte, latte
blow the foam
watch me smile all day pretending I’m a writer
enumerating every reason why my work isn’t on one shelf
not one, that’s why I dunk three lattes
and seek out your footprints while no one is watching
still, there is my spirit guide
she drinks naught
eats less than sips
her curved feet are bare and beautiful
her wings are tucked around her disheveled robes
she is proud of her life
passion burns hot in her breast
the embodiment of joy in simple musing
she pulls me away from the wild things that grow on another’s path
she kisses my cheek, returns my black socks patched with green threads
then she tosses me back onto the road where I started out
allowing me no words for excuses
“words,” she whispers in her gorgeous velvet-throwback voice
are for stories
spirit-guide-weditsspirit guide sketched this past weekend while at a boisterous high school wrestling tournament

harnessing passions

I’ve been storing my passions like solar panels
harnessing energy, converting urges

I’m ready for you
don’t know
if you’re ready
for the ‘lights’ of me
I was many years in the shadows
until the spectrum generated by your proximity
burned away the blackness

I’m not quite myself
turning on and off as flippant as a switch

you are the only one
I can drink alone to in a darkened room
for now

bittersweet cocktails are a conduit
to your skin cells
I
unload my impulses in liquified amber
swallowing the static burn

but
I can’t keep losing power like this
in fact, I’m quite sure
if I don’t take you by storm and soon
there’s not much time remaining
before my charged bolt fades
and I am forced to fumble back into
some dead fold

Warrior Lashes

Warrior Lashes

the pirate’s code

do you believe in the pirate’s mask
X marks the spot
gold beyond the dreams of your dreams
so I’m told

X

the pirate can lead you there with his gruffled face
that snarled nose jammed between eyes of imperfect steel
the right, concealed behind a veil of black
like the dark ship he sails at midnight

X

will you bury your treasure for future seekers
whose dreams follow a map

or will you drink it away, swilling dirty rum
and dare the living to find it

X

will you hoard for fear of emptiness
laying curse to lock and lid
abiding by the code–
seekers walk the plank beneath the jolly roger
while you adore your black ship,
the wild sea and a dreamer’s treasure

you know
will never be found…

X

animated refuse

animated refuse