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Matt Shade Mar 1
Some devils looked upon the lights
of angels in the night’s blue air,
and said to one another there:
“Let’s rob the fair, deface
the profound, and place
these lights on the ground.”

So up they flew as the night grew cold,
the sky bought in, and light was sold
to the ground for the sound of cars
in a valley of concrete, and steel bars
carved by rivers of wide awake.

The ground began to bend and shake
as pillars rose to fill the air,
then further to ensnare the eyes
who then became the spies of smoke.

Now early morning has awoke
too early, all the ***** dust
is kicking up and down the street.

The clock struck one, a sun so new,
the day brings so much work to do—

for very soon, the clock strikes two.
Matt Shade Feb 6
Sick in bed, and barely moving,
With a fever unimproving,
I witnessed a vision so behooving
That it haunts me evermore.

A ghostly being there intruding,
Held a hand out, thus alluding
That I was to come, excluding
All the bones and skin I wore.

From the eye my vision leapt,
And witnessed as the body slept,
Then looking to the creature, wept,
But followed swiftly out the door.

Over the city, softly glowing,
Rising until the sun was showing,
The being pointed down, bestowing
What empire I’d wasted for.

Above the clouds we then ascended,
Passing even the stars suspended
(fields where those fires offended
Darkness in their endless war).

Above the stars we reached a place
Of laughter and pastoral grace,
Beyond the grips of that mad race
For greater burdens to abhor.

Here people lived in a wooded grove,
Sleeping in grassy nests they wove;
There was no need for roof or stove,
For here no rain would ever pour.

Here we happened on a feast,
Where as they ate, the food increased,
So hunger too was never ceased,
And satisfied them all the more.

Wine was tapped from a willow trunk
Which let them live forever drunk,
Dancing until the moon had sunk
To hide behind the sycamore.

And oh, what music when they danced!
They’d shake, or fly, or sit entranced
By melodies which drums enhanced,
And sing along to every score.

Here I stopped to take a rest,
Discerning that this place was blessed,
Thinking to mingle as a guest,
And learn a little of its lore.

I took a fruit and tried a bite,
Finding it much to my delight—
But sickened when I caught the sight
Of rot and writhing at its core.

I threw it to the ground in grief,
And there it fell before their chief
Who smiled, much to my relief,
And sat me on the forest floor.

“Listen, child”, the chief then said,
“Your body slumbers in a bed,
But all the creatures here are dead,
And these are the fruits that we adore.”

That creature who had been my guide
Returned now, standing by my side,
And led me to a longboat tied
Up loosely to a mossy shore.

We set ourselves upon the waves,
And tracing along the cliff's enclaves,
We reached a set of narrow caves,
Whereupon that creature manned the oar.

The air inside was black as ash,
So I hadn’t seen that fateful splash
As it directed us to crash,
But blindly felt my body soar.

I fell from my bed in the bud of dawn,
And was in my room, with curtains drawn.
My fever now was finally gone,
Though still I was a little sore.

I sat by the window to catch my heart,
And felt that my whole life was just the start—
Like I'd only known the smallest part
Of what there really was in store.

Whatever that vision was all about,
Of its effect, I’ve not any doubt.
Taking my coat then, I went out—
For I was craving to explore.
Matt Shade Aug 2021
Red fish, blue fish,
I wish you were
in the sea so
you could swim
with me.

Bright star, true star,
how far you are
from where it is
you really need to be.

Sad eye, glad I
got myself to give
a smile to the air-
flying free
on seamless breezes;
caught and tangled
in her hair.

Now here we are
where we can see our
conversation flare.

Let us veer far
from who we are;
let us forsake
our stake on there.
Matt Shade Feb 2021
So there’s two school’s of thought.
Invaluable could mean valuable.

Why would they be synonyms?
I don’t know. Not my school.

Invaluable could also mean not valuable
because it makes a lot more sense.

Some people prefer sticking to what sticks,
and others prefer sticking to what's stuck.

At the very least we all agree:
Those conventions are invaluable.
Matt Shade Nov 2020
The circle meets under each new moon,
and sees a gleaming lunar noon.
Facing together, they’re singing about
the night they blew the moonlight out.

And in the moonlight did they weep
for silver simmering in its keep;
they dreamt demonic days asleep,
and saved their breath only to shout

until they blew the moonlight out.
And then in the darkness did they creep
like Spider in the water spout,
or like a flock of wounded sheep;

Sirius said the wolves will sleep,
then painted the dirt a deep maroon.
Sower shall sow, and reaper shall reap;
they dined in darkness, free of doubt.

And if the hour is dawning soon
the circle sees the silver spoon,
they’ll forge an empire in the deep,
and then they’ll blow the moonlight out.
Matt Shade Jul 2020
Cupping drops of chocolate in island palms,
I ate one like life, sweet and bitter;
like silk and butter; like the sweet dark
oblivion of sleep but better.
And in my trance I took another,
and another, until I had just one,
and mindful now of what my indulgence
would soon become,
to be no more, I savored the last drop
and rolled it about on my tongue like
a word for one I love,
and after wondered to myself-
in which drop lay the deeper satisfaction
now that all were passed?
The very first one, or the very last?
Matt Shade Apr 2020
Young is yes, but no
is longer-
let’s be slow
together, stronger.
Feather floating
way, way back
to live forever
in the black
that was and will,
and is but not-
you be still,
and still taste hot
despite the cold;
forget the lot
that you were sold.
If you ask me,
it's growing old.
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