There are those who
spark under lights,
ready for fame
and splendid glory.
Untouched by the weight
of what lies behind.

There are those
who don’t seek applause,
work their silent craft
in the back row,
hold up every story.

Quiet presence,
unnoticed encounters
in the long hallways—
heroes of background,
like the steady ticking of the clock.

They are the pillars of pyramids
built by self-proclaimed Pharaohs.

doors & how they swing so far wide
like the gaping shadow
of a pair of lips waiting...

i wonder if you realized i felt the grace
of your arrow -- brushing so lovingly through
the flesh of my *****
& i couldn’t help but to smile

take it away from me, the flutter in my chest, the
residuals of your golden essence
sitting on the rim of modelos
& passenger seat of my monte carlo

when i watch the neutral tones of grainy film
seep into your oily features
i wish you would smile just a bit more

two lovers draped over this canvas
cast their passionate shadows over bedsheets,
pleasurable touches & a recipe for a sickly afterglow,
burning like the delicate backs of fireflies
bursting like a pearlescent bubble
chased by bitter aftertaste of longing

how i wish you knew
how much you made me feel
how my paints drip like honey
& form the lines that become you

when i breathe again the essence has vanished
like paint thinner on acrylic. honey replaced
with a spoonful of sugar
& i cross the street to meet you

suddenly the memory leaves no trace behind
& i can’t help but to trace the spot
where you once stood

I walk upon the earth
I pretend that I own it,
I see an army of ants
attacking a Mantis,
I watch it accept defeat,
it is silent in its prayer,
it is crippled in its faith,
my empathy is tested,
I whisper to its god,
give it a quick death!
but its god does not listen
it is slow and torturous,
I hold my breath as the
Mantis weeps. I see the
last leaf fall from a
winter Wisteria it is
naked and boney, it has
become ugly
in its nature …
Clay.M

a twisty verbiage, but stop!
it is not cutesy or frivolous,
but an awed respect,
for that fact;
the complexity of the monumental
is the sum of:
the bricks, the letters,
the words, the lines, the stanza and
of course, the spaces in between
that makes simple so ****
complex

Established landmarks removed test the fates—
Burning wind in a vacant sky.
Rearranged cosmic hemispheres of mind—
Oracle of day not seen with naked eye.

The need for warmth a thing of the past—
Frigid waters the basis of new-fangled cell.
Tortured derelicts kept from spiritual vision—
Oracle of night hangs in day’s empty shell.

Dubious means to generate a sun of artificial light—
But a fling cannot replace a love that is shunned.
Yet warm rays of sunlight still flow above the temporal—
Still hanging in defiance of the 60 cycle hum.

Regain your bearings oh heart of true light—
Everything in its place: oracle of day and oracle of night.