The silver lining
of her otherwise fuchsia
underwear, was in its ability
to sense danger.

The gray area
of her otherwise rosy
lips, was in who they were
allowed to kiss.

The red alert
of her otherwise bronze
thighs, was for what attempted
to get between them.

The white elephant
in her otherwise beige
room, is what happened
to her prized possession.

What exactly does
A stormtrooper's armor
Protect him from?

Based on their troubled history,
Shouldn't Death Stars
Have been named
Death Traps instead?

A novice like Luke
Could immediately sense evil
In an unknown tree,
Yet, Master Yoda couldn't sense it
In a person he was around everyday!
Explain that to me?

~
the night starts here,
the night starts here
in the dunes,
fixed in time;
incipient waves falling into place,
their subtle purpose
to roll over and sing;
the fountainhead above us,
like it's above the shore,
attaching softness to a shell.

we blew on a dandelion
and the whole world disappeared;
love is a mysterious shape,
love is a remembered rhythm.

I have trembled
my way deep,
I'm a guest in here,
drinking at the stream,
seeking bliss in
the plural homemade kiss:
peppermints and orchid rain.

we please the night,
we please the night in interlude,
and it merrily leaves us that strand
of pearls called "good morning."
~

The hill is alive

Marching soldier

Plugged into the hive

Follows the scent trail of the world before him

Winter is closing in

Food stores and Disney Plus

Take turns as kingpin

It's all about what's current

And holds a charge

Technological holdouts

Form an orderly line to the graveyard

The rest do their very best

To keep up with progress

Reality is so unreliable. In the water of life we surf the wave of chance. Rise or fall as hunters in the snow. The isolating future is already here. But people are still people, they still need each other. The anachronistic branch of knowledge we are dedicated to - the day in, day out - is a deluded science. It is we who would be the objects of enquiry and fascination to an alien mind. Humanity is the true wonder, the true miracle.

I tried taking a trip
down memory lane
but it was closed
to thru traffic

So I called the department
of transportation
and they told me
it was all in my head

The doctor's not in
But he makes housecalls
Especially upon young ladies
Who read one another's sacred
Journals, hoping to steal dreams
Dreams of callipygian
Dreams of tryst
Dreams of embrocation
Dreams of frisson
Each able to be held
In the hand, but
Lost to the wind
Father Physician
Is a savior of sorts
Curing them of all their ills
Yet, only for a day
Tomorrow the mind
Shall play tricks on them
Once again

Young spark

Slipping on the shoes
Of a thespian,

A walk about
Wonderland,

Yet, in a fog
You lost your father
On final approach,

The twinkle
Of your light went out,

In quiet step,
Tenderfoot,

Turned
One degree
Too far,

And lost you were
Upon a London flat.

Birthday girl,

It's not your fault.

I leave it to you with fondness.

How you used to fill it on those lazy Sundays
with fresh blooms from the neighbor's garden.

You would blame the kids from across
the street and we'd laugh
as their dad chased them around the yard
with a belt.

And when they would die, as they were wont to do,
you'd replace them with your paranoid
king's fiddlesticks.

He'd come out of the castle in a dither.

But you always convinced him
it was the handiwork of little green men
--who looked very much like
the kids from across the street.

Ah, remember the fire and how we danced?

Yes, my dearest captive
--the face that launched a thousand ships--

I leave it to you with only the warmest sentiments.

Love, Paris.

Happy and content
in this garden of delight,
yet curiously alone.
Am I one of a kind?
On the verge of sleep
as the sun slips under its blanket.
After the butterflies,
after the somnolent dream,
I was bestirred
by what first seemed a chimera.
The grace and splendor
of a remarkable creation,
and there she stood
making doe eyes,
a twinkle of a smile
curling about her lips.

At once I was besotted,
God had bequeathed to me
His crowning achievement,
and into my care she was placed.
So much to impart,
so much to share.
Together now as united residents,
one flesh,
she will complete me,
and I will dote on her.
A gift to always cherish
as we walk hand in hand.

Her task each new day
is strolling about paradise
in search of nourishment,
to feed us from the fruitage therein,
lest one tree’s offering.
And yet this morning,
another voice summons to be heard,
the rasped utterances
of the cunning,
with tales of his own kingdom coming,
one nibble to freedom, she was assured.
How I wish she’d taken her leave.

She proved too inquisitive,
it took root,
this germination,
and there she lingered.
Eyes caught, unblinking,
her open heart
heavy with wanton hunger.
Who whispered unto you, my darling?

Standing before me
I surrendered to her,
an ill-fated collusion,
co-conspirators to sin.
We ate in the shadow of a silver birch
and awakened to our nakedness.
Eyes wide open!

Discomfited, we struggled
to conceal our shame
What has happened to us, dearest?
Avowal and discord.
Trouble and strife.

"It was the woman you gave me!"
"It was the serpent," she countered.
A betrayal to our God
neither of us wished to confess.
Dust had been thrown in her eyes,
my transgressions were clear-sighted.
Together now as
evicted tenants,
flawed, imperfect flesh,
she will pine for me,
and I will reign over her.

Oh, how I vanquished this gift,
this blessed union.
What tragedy,
what irony:
As I take her hand,
I also fully understand
she is now eternally,
irrevocably,
lost to me...

Vague,
the expression of response
in a relentless jade,
conjuring up primevals
risen from her house arrest.
She lives through the days of tension
by her own fortitude,
clutching to her privacy
as if a means of escape
to which she can be locked within.
Mendacious moments,
walking towards a primrose path,
allude her to try and smile.
But she knows she need not pretend,
for just as her hair falls casually
over her face,
she winces her pain
into a controlled tremble.
Proposed to glide under
freshly minted skies,
in words filled with undertone
and in serenades
softly played by calendar
chimes.

A day at the beach
and a piece of bread
are a lot alike

It's all about
loafing around

And no matter
how much gets smeared on
you always end up toasted

~
His latest greatest film,
Spa Days Before Life Support,
welcomes back misanthropy,
ventures with vultures
--tasteless exchange--
a depraved ideology
that drains the heaven inside
his lead actress.

Straw men,
watching the storm clock
on opening night,
praise its framework
even if hollow within.

Visits to the ***** carnival
next to the reconstruction site,
leave the pamphleteer
with no options other than
filling silk pockets.

And his trophy wife,
good for the press conference,
bad for the environment.

Let the ladies know
empowerment
is another name for
imprisonment.
~

Claypan
Hideaway
Constant instars
Exiled metamorphosis
So quiet you can almost
Hear the sun go down

Valle de Las Hamacas
Vista Hermosa
Spheres of Paradiso
Seismic dewdrop points
Listening to the night
Fall with the rain

I'm almost positive I heard them talking

Talking in their protective, yet complaining manner

They say, they only get to interact with the weak

They say, they're all too often held responsible for the bond between others

What's the matter with them?

They're the ones full of chemistry

They're the ones who can escape scott free

While I have to stay inside and act positive about it

Just once I'd like to not be in the middle of everything

There is no middle ground
This taking sides again

It's Adam or Eve
She, deceived
He, the willful one

Once naked
Now ashamed
And misconnected

Within an
Inauguration of leaves

Sleeping upon
Thorns and thistles

The genetic defect their own
To carry forth
Children of sin and death

In the shadow
Of something now
Unattainable

It was never
About appetite

It was always
About sovereignty

He Waits for his wife
Sitting in her lawbreaking bra at the bar

These days she goes by
Kathleen

Something odd is brewing in the kitchen
Even the dog is howling

One mouthful is tempting
But better not swallow

Otherwise, it's a certain trip
To Little Red's recovery room

Mellifluous. Imperishable.

Drink to love, madly.

Façade of innocence, preserved by trickery.

Escape the gallows.

Bewed another, one of White Hands.

Jealous wife, she lies.
"It carries a black sail."

Turn away and indeed perish.

Embraceable you. She follows him unto death.

Two trees grow out of their graves.

So intertwined their branches, they can not be parted by any means.

home is a cage
slide out the window
find a different way
run with the wolves
chase the child

it won't always be like this
ceramic heart
cosmic bruise
lovesick in a hotel wildfire

chemistry begins with
orbiting the moon
he calls her a river

swallowing down mistakes
she cares a little less about everything now

blood on the mattress
young blood

breaks in the sun
mean pure dark is yet to come
--nightly things

as long as she gets by
despite the crushing weight of gravity
she will take swan feathers
and wedding days to bed

but never take the blame

It blew in off the sea

It went out on a limb

And broke the olive branch

Do you hear the wind through the hair of revolution

--black raven hair--

Bone straight and frayed

The split ends of society forging separate paths

Progression at their tips, regression in their roots

It makes a sound akin to the back of an old haunted house settling

It wandered here in due season

It's about to be cut short

It's about to be swept away

St. George, Utah, 1953
Look out your window
What do you see?

***** Harry
And winds that mean no harm

Nice big mushroom cloud
Gonna dust your farm

ee-I-ee-I-o

Look closer...
the winding trail
is baked to perfection,
bearing the scars
of a caesarean section.

Only the snakes
dare travel along I-8,
one-by-one the seasons lie prone,
in heat this sun will castrate.

The burnt aspects on faces
don’t smile or frown,
they peer out as residue
to places perished in the wake of
a cityscape’s head trauma,
calling out to the heaven’s above
as they await her to rise
with wings from these ashes,
in anticipation for a day ne’er to draw nigh,
even the steady fall of acid rain
will fail to wash away such genocide.

A favorite haunt transmutes
into a ghost town,
burning into the ground
the heat seeps into the soul,
and the procession begins again
for whom the bell tolls.

Towers of steel melt
as popsicles on the pavement,
the sun’s punishment
is constantly transcendent,
the noise of sparks and hums
rattle the spine,
today’s forecast is a good chance
of saturnine.

Eerie colors at dawn
make for a spectral scenic view,
picnic lunch in the park
is categorically taboo,
the hunters of men
swoon in subjugation to this tyranny,
weather’s wrath was everyone’s destiny.

Live a little, die a little,
pretend it cannot happen,
but in the end we all windup
as peanut brittle...

Watch your step
When trying to climb
The corporate ladder.

You scratch their back
They just might shoot you
In your's.

Bleed a cold,
Starve a fever,
Pray the plague don't come
Looking for you, unbeliever.

Don't sneeze at disease,
Or stick yourself with an arrow,
Just stack your dead
In the wheelbarrow.

You won't remember all the fuss you
cause, my precious microcosm

This strange bewildering exhausting
global economy you dwell in

Apparently the lease expired and your time has come

Driven by grievance more than strategy

It sets the stage for fireworks and confusion

In one dizzying morning into afternoon

I'm searching for who to blame

Histories on the episode may well spend a chapter on
your mother's unhinged notions née crazy talk

It becomes clear in real time how the risks
of an escalating trade war

give a centimeter, take a centimeter

And the fraying of longstanding ties

Could quickly outpace the ability to evict you

As your mother, the normal first responder
to your distress, I can do

Absolutely nothing about it but push

In what seems a shoot-first approach to such
a delicate moment

The escalation, the unpredictability, the erratic
nature of developments

Is central to what is going on

Something is breaking

That something is me!

Our world is on edge

Looking for a sign of what to do next

The labor market drops and you're crowned
a royal pain

Peace is found, it's proportional

And by all measures you're quite hale
quite beautiful!

This offsets the damage of a messy exit

The disconnect I incessantly prayed for offers
melancholy over relief

In our opening act you're already moving
away from me

While the female body is a powerful tool

It cannot provide a settled rule book for
such internal battle

Still, this adventure, scary and catastrophic as
it was, is well-suited to the wonders that I am

For that I'm grateful to my Creator

The lesson of the last several hours is that forces are unfolding
that we can't do much to contain

We're merely nesting passengers en route to
a foreign destination

Affixed to the Lee–Enfield,
this blade, this trigger point,
stricken by ambush,
enters the melee
along the false edge,
cuts to the core,
like sympathizers of
William of Orange.

There are no daggers
apart from war,
just an ocean of
death and defeat,
its water,
its ever rising water,
swallows us whole.