I thought to acquire
A piece of wall art;
Reproduced in mass would be fine
As long as it’s attractive, yet honest,
without tasteless jest,
And appears to be organic,
Cultivated
At the artist’s discretion.

In the catalogue, my attention falls
To a print
Of an anatomical drawing
From a botanical field guide,
Colored with pencil: the perianth
A pastel pink
That yields to a gentle yellow
Just before
the petals are enveloped
by the green sepal coat.

High on the hanging stems
Round buds of emerald and buttery cream
Follow their elders
In gradient lines of expansion
To the end where the eldest
Bend into blossomed bells;
All come together and seem
As a pink and gold Easter dress.

From the petals stretch
The pistils and stamen.
Reaching
Reaching
Gasping, I can nearly hear
The flower’s patient breathing,
Waiting
For a kiss
From a fluttering errant proboscis.
The pistil aims for the ether,
To another’s anther and
Pollen dusted petals.

Tempted now am I
To wear always
A corsage about my neck.

You mangy mutt
Please look at us
We want to see your eyes
I cannot
Contain myself
When I sympathize

And all we want
Is just three words
Unsolicited
And all I want
Is just a touch
And blessing on the head

What has happened to you
A hex, A Vexation
Please come back
And did you see me walk out
A test, or reality
I’ll come back

She looks for
just her share
Of your attention
He waits for
You to help
Build a nation

I don’t feel
I’m asking more
That you said you’d give
Not privilege
Or shiny things
Show me how to live

What has happened to you
A hex, A Vexation
Please come back
And did you see me walk out
A test, or reality
I’ll come back

When we
Burn the Witch
Burn her
Burn her

Burn the Witch
Burn her
Burn her

Burn the Witch
Burn her
Burn her

Burn the Witch
Burn her
Burn her

There it is, a wind from the East
A motion of warmth returns home
It moves, and something flutters
It moves, and I elate

Vacillant being, do not delay
With trite footings and teased notions
Here is the eclipse
A pinpoint light on you

Annexed streams, flow with the ghost
Who swells up our fervor
Who holds premonition
As we study the other

With the mood of the currents
Trees concave and vex
Leaves are fickle things
When the wind is cold

Dearest wind, whisper then laugh
Froth the waters, dismiss the clouds
Curl into these sails
Curl into me, do not delay

It can be dangerous
     To encounter something
     Thought provoking before sleep

Maybe you will have a couple of minutes of afterthought
     And then drift to Sleep
Or you may catch Insomnia caused by, and causing,
    A series of jumbled thoughts
Thoughts that change paths quickly, sharply and often

So they are crossing and weaving
     Going up and down, side to side
               Forwards, backwards, short and longways
                         Until you have an apparently infinitely tangled mess
                                   And that point a 9mm seems appropriate
                                             To clear out this heap that has kept you from
                                                       Much needed slumber for the past few hours
-Whew

Don't take this as a suicide attempt though
     No this is merely a desperate, fantasy of an attempt for some rest

The next plan may be to scream,
     as if jumping from a building
     Hoping that the thoughts would leave
     With the air from your lungs
Of course that would not work
     Seeing how breathe and ideas
     Come from different parts of the body
And your not so cruel to wake those who do manage to sleep

So now try to scream inside your head
     But really you want someone to hear it
     So the purpose (which I believe I no longer grasp) is defeated
Well, you could scream to yourself,
     Or God
     So someone knows what going on
But then out of now where arguments break out
     Upon realizing that you are fighting with yourself
     You fear a schizophrenic diagnosis
     And argue with God (if you haven't already)
     About why he gave you two personalities
          That fight each other into the wee hours of the night

Then your mind will just happen to wander
     From the quarrel
Analyzing the last point to come up
     Which drifts into a semi-related tangent
          Then wander to something some one did
               That this particular thought reminds you of
                    Maybe that meanders on ever to the actions
                         Of a character from some book you've read
                              And after rereading the book inside your head
                                   Go on and review everything you've read by the author
                              And relate how similar the name of the author is
                    Related to a cast member of a mind bending movie
               As the lost pattern of whimsy gurgles like a puzzle of
          Light bulbs flashing with assumed direction but no
     Real goal in mind, but just on and on, etc, etc, etc,

Captured inside a tighter, messier ball than before
It can be dangerous
     To encounter something
     Thought provoking before sleep

Maybe you will have a couple of minutes of afterthought
     And then drift to Sleep
Or you may catch Insomnia caused by, and causing,
    A series of jumbled thoughts
Thoughts that change paths quickly, sharply and often

So they are crossing and weaving
     Going up and down, side to side
               Forwards, backwards, short and longways
                         Until you have an apparently infinitely tangled mess
                                   And that point a 9mm seems appropriate
                                             To clear out this heap that has kept you from
                                                       Much needed slumber for the past few hours
-Whew

Don't take this as a suicide attempt though
     No this is merely a desperate, fantasy of an attempt for some rest

The next plan may be to scream,
     as if jumping from a building
     Hoping that the thoughts would leave
     With the air from your lungs
Of course that would not work
     Seeing how breathe and ideas
     Come from different parts of the body
And your not so cruel to wake those who do manage to sleep

So now try to scream inside your head
     But really you want someone to hear it
     So the purpose (which I believe I no longer grasp) is defeated
Well, you could scream to yourself,
     Or God
     So someone knows what going on
But then out of now where arguments break out
     Upon realizing that you are fighting with yourself
     You fear a schizophrenic diagnosis
     And argue with God (if you haven't already)
     About why he gave you two personalities
          That fight each other into the wee hours of the night

Then your mind will just happen to wander
     From the quarrel
Analyzing the last point to come up
     Which drifts into a semi-related tangent
          Then wander to something some one did
               That this particular thought reminds you of
                    Maybe that meanders on ever to the actions
                         Of a character from some book you've read
                              And after rereading the book inside your head
                                   Go on and review everything you've read by the author
                              And relate how similar the name of the author is
                    Related to a cast member of a mind bending movie
               As the lost pattern of whimsy gurgles like a puzzle of
          Light bulbs flashing with assumed direction but no
     Real goal in mind, but just on and on, etc, etc, etc,

Captured in a tighter, messier ball than before
     Still no closer to falling into bliss and dreams
     Continuing a run around circle of red eyed agony

And what of Emotions
     Before it was a string
     With many frayed and loose ends
     All tied into a childish knot
Now add your emotions from the day
     A bunch of gunky wax and slime
You stuck with a coarse
                                                  stringy
­                                                                m­ushy
                                                            ­                  smelly
                                        ­                                                    tangled
     ­                                                                 ­                                        and damp
                            pile of sspthpthtphtphthhh (a.k.a. crap)

And the only things
     That seem a proper remedy
     For this pile of crap
     Are tranquilizers meant
     For animals much larger than you
     Or just a friendly bullet
     (One with a hollow tip to really clear out)

You know you could get up
     Read,
                 Write,
                              Watch some TV
But even though you are
     Completely awake and
     Fully alert
You are just too tired to up

But if by some miracle
     You do manage to just doze off
     This perpetual law of irony dictates
     That your alarm is not even
     Three moments from sounding

And in that ringing
     Is a true moment you may wish to have that bullet

This  dog has a death grip on me
This dog,
That use to have fine beautiful coat,
       now is matted and flea infested fur
Who use to rule the pack and lead the hunts
       is now living off of table scraps

This dog has a death grip on me
The mutt that is kicked and starved,
       neglected and used
He lost his love for the moon,
       his intimacy with the stars

This is the dog that has a death grip on me
Teeth chipped and broken
       can still set deep in
Teeth chipped and broken
       need to bite harder yet

To pull him by the tail
       is to offer more of the meat on my arm
Yanking on the tail and ears
       is provoking redundant mutilation
Because this dog has a death grip on me

Because this dog has a death grip on me
I look up to the moon
       And cry silently to the stars

Worm in the ground
Chewing on forest roots
Turns and grows just under the topsoil

Listen to the trees creek and moan
Dragon lore is no longer fable

Do not touch
He will bite
Do not dig
He will scream

Grow,
     grow,
         grow in malevolence and sting
Devour cedars from bottom up
Tear flesh down to bone delicate bone
Eager search of heart

An owl screeches
An owl cries
Flies to water
But still feels dry

Hunting with lances and spears
Dig,
     pull,
           and cut up
He knows ****** is best to kindle flame
So what do you think he then breathes on me

Cut the monster,  spill him out
     Bleeding fire
     Bleeding fire
Trees sent to ash
The forest to soot
Smells so similar to death,
Or at least I think so

Fire dies down
And buds sprout out
Even angels singing
"Hallelujah! Sweet Fall Breeze"

But still, quiet in December
There are worms in the ground

Dread
Deep,
     Deep,
          Dread

Waiting to lift a rock
Under which I have left a Viper

Venom nonfatal
But abscesses and grows
Cultivates already infected,
                                                      decaying tissue

Weight my temple
Drop from a tower
Only the ground below and
On all sides

Dread, pass me by
Deaf, blind viper

Is this paranoia
No, I tremble legitimately

The sun, moon, and stars
Have all just collapsed
They crumbled
           crumbled
           crumbled
Settled as a *****
   pile of rubble

     Covered,
Smothered,
    Tethered to a millstone;
      Plunged beneath the sea

Watch it sink beneath the breach

DOWN
   Down
   down
Beyond the fish and eels
And monsters of the deep
Down beyond Poseidon's lair

And with the weight,
I have set a piece of me
But, still, I can see