bulletcookie

bulletcookie Jul 2018

those inner sanctum eyes
enfold in singularity this heart
in star crushing gravity, consumed
in love's long embrace

-cec

bulletcookie Jul 2018

Down to Sea

Fog rolls bank on ocean's crest
over mounds of roaming waves
buoy bells float in dissonant beats
near shores of sand-piper beaches

clangs that mark a barrier's depth
where sunken vessels sailed
and now these tolls extol their death
to those who brave this veil

the question lies on either side
and where these ship do round
on going out and coming in
through narrow's passage bound

-cec

bulletcookie Jul 2018

Alackaday a Love

Heart, be still your desire
she does not know her wait
you delay in longing hours
in consummation of this fate

each and every loving gesture
days observed of them and one
seals in searing branded texture
of a wound that rivals sun

self inflicted desolation
looking for a golden fleece
through these trials and tribulations
steeled to wander for that kiss

-cec

bulletcookie Jun 2018

Filthy Whiskey

she said it was a ***** Martini
a filmy liquid poured into clear glass
squeeze bottles of Worcestershire, for ******-Mary,
squirted octopus ink into bleeding crushed ice
millions of dancing limes approve
as Vodkas crash to internal shores

she let us smell its fragrance
in the bottle's bottom depths
we drank her beer in ounces
'till a swirling straw bumped ice
there a vision reared it's carnage
with its alcoholic swage

she hovers by her register as the numbers button down
while the room spins after-hours in this other part of town
music plays within this cavern dim where tunes of rue elute
a she and he, to they were friends, days can end in Absolute
from hearth and work's alarm to roam at power's will
uptown/downtown skid row's tribulations till

absorbed in sorrowful rags, tears of strangers
wiped from countertop gouged by time's knife
slices of stories, jokes and anecdotes suspended
on racks above this bar's mirrored memories
hang on entrance door and exit's green light
arriving early after to leave too late

-cec

bulletcookie Jun 2018

Pencil and Pen

there is a cup full of pencils on this desk
No! two cups worth, jammed into one
a second full of a brush, candy-cane, letter opener
while inside lying towards bottom are paper clips,
smiling
scissors, ***** drivers, 4th of July sparklers
a piece of tape waiting to repair or hold a stem
AND the paper ...!

-cec

bulletcookie Jun 2018

Landscape

dripping from these heart torn heavens a pale light -
ragged purples line lonely landscape shadows
rejuvenated ionic plateaus crumble into skirts of ruin
there thoughts lie buried waiting inspirational rain

an arrow's flight is itself a fate-straight report
a heron's is floppy as it contemplates marshy ports
wiggling tadpoles torpedo to a shapeless slow-pass
their sky upside down and sinking to the depths

horizons on this canvas stretch curves distant
in side view edges bringing one closer to ledge's precipice
falling over yellow sand-verbena and Amophila wars
where dune swallows nest and eagle's spirit soar

-cec

bulletcookie May 2018

Waiting

hours have circled by in hope of seeing you approach-
to first notice your eyes exchanged in anticipating trance
when world stops: ends in a centrifugal flight into galaxy's arms
gravity giving up its intimacy for an arrow's push of this heart
into limitless space, unfold, attest a perfect conjunction

endearments will speed across our dance stepped stars
today, tomorrow
wearing chameleon skin hues that beckon a touch to solidity

now's concrete lot: sprouting weeds, grime, flat plastic bottle; denies parking
waiting for the sixty-seven north among phone-hands, averted faces
older wrinkles, tired limbs filling street cloths in rush hour's stupor
hurtling towards The Spiral Tavern to meet absent friends
who's beers foam happy condolences to current regrets and sorrow

a bus transfer lies deep within a pocket, there beleaguers ride home
empty stools, tables, rackety riot music playing exponentially
into tin-tapping ears and restless mind full of arresting alarms
talk becomes pennies on the dollar, prose runs off a cliff
time revolves around pleasantries walking towards the exit

Where are you now ...?

-cec