My nose runs through plastic flowers,
dad close behind, brother
somewhere— camouflaged— in front of me.

Our prey is close.
The savanna grasses
dried and woven into baskets
but we stalk through them all the same.

As we close in, crouched among hippos
crocodiles and wildebeests
pushing orange shopping carts, we crack up,
roar, our prey hears us and we duck

into the nearest aisle of knickknacks
before she turns around,
all the other animals glaring
but Dad doesn’t care

because his cubs aren’t fighting
or fussing
they’re hunting with their father.

As our prey nears the checkout
we pounce
and she gives Dad that look:

I thought it was Mom’s “I can’t believe
you made the kids **** me” look
but it was the
“Everyone’s staring at us” look

As Dad just smiles
mane waving in the air conditioning
and pretended to eat Mom’s neck.

The wino took the corner like a 4 year old performs surgery.

His eyes roll into glue
and dry on her instantly.
She notices and
they rip away. Blurry

He swerves to avoid the railing.  Dizzy

Intoxicated, they forget it’s not polite to stare
but his possession is met with a smile
he panics, puts his eyes on the road
and smiles back

                       while driving

                                          off the mountain

Walk by all the flowers.
strong orchids, dark lilacs, dim roses
potted perfectly
on familiar porches

Breathe deeply as you pass them
bruise the petals with a touch goodbye
because Summer is coming
and with it, you’re going

Walk by the yellow graffiti
rooted in the lawns
                                but stop.
if only for a moment
      to see the white

      the dead dandelion, whose unborn roots
             wish to fall from their ovule.
              They wait trembling in Spring’s
                                  cruel sunny breeze

                                             Waiting for you to blow
                                                   because with your breath
                                                             the wind blows too, and the wind
                                                                                     can carry me with you.

I apologize,
I have not kissed a woman--
most certainly a ****** too--
which might shed light on why
you’ve become my muse,
merely at the thought,
of someday loving you.

I wear my hunger like a badge of honor
every stomach’s groan and garble is victory
wrapped in lettuce, hold the beef
and bun.

My manly appetite shrinks
from triumphant buttons bursting
to greens garnished with greens
after salads, please no dressing
or any cheese.

Beer drunk pizzas parties
turn tomato sauce on egg white omelets
scantly sprinkled with fat free
turkey pepperoni, and all fake
dairy Cheesus.

A good idea
becomes chocolate dipped
peanut butter Twinkies
served with stomach ache
covered in batter fried bits of bacon.

Trophies are knuckles
cheekbones and ribs
once buried by doughnuts
frosted with funnel cakes
served in soda pop.

So I hang my badge of hunger on bones
happily sitting behind baggy skin and habits
wrapped in clothes, I never thought
would fit.

there’s more
than 1 theory
in string theory, more than 1 dimension too
sometimes 4, others 26
all of which but few
are flat

genus 2 donuts would have less dough
some things are super
symmetrical, quarks
didn’t exist ‘til 1968, my attention span
shortens
to 5 feet 2 inches, when a String smiles back.

it’s intuitive
that 2 quarks attract
when pulled apart.  a tachyon
fits cross legged
in a chair.  gum pops sing
and the theory is boring without fermions.

strings absorb in the D-branes
of blue eyes
and matching glasses. stray
hairs, electrified with brilliance
warrant cats
that even Schrodinger knows are alive

I’ve found another gem in the creek,
it shines with blue orbs in the sun
and white pearls before a coffee
black canvas.  I will keep this one

but I can’t remember
where I put the last one…  time
took it away on travels tragic— mythic—
and I don’t miss it anymore

now that I have you, my shiny gem,
smoothed geode, cracked
down the center
like the last earthquake that struck my passions

terrified I’ll lose you, I put you away
in a perfect box, in the perfect darkness
of a crawl space crack, a loose closet wallboard

where I will never look again,
hidden
by an idea, hidden
by what I need you to be,
hidden with furious passions

only rivaled
by that of a 12-year-old’s rock collection.

if i commanded every atom
with half a thought
and pulled your eyes to mine
                                just to smile.

if i twisted the paths of time
and space
just to pass you walking
                               all i could do is smile.

even if i ruled the universe,
Your slightest glance
smallest smirk
wanton quirk, would bring
lips to hide my tongue
and lungs to miss the air.

yet you'll wonder why
i don’t want the universe

The silence of poetry stings
in a dry mouth filled with fear,
And regret
that grows with every smile,
blush, and signal from the wilting
petals, but even dew
drops falling from an Iris
fail to wet dry wells.

The flower will die of neglect
but there are dozens waiting
to take its place.

Poetry will never forget
the piles of withered brown
stems, hardened thorns
and blackened petals

but still will never speak
for a tongue that quakes
behind its pearly prison.

Let it rain on ladies clothing,
bright young faces
and warm damp
places.  Let it rain
on scorching sands,
hibiscus petals,
and rusting metals.
Let it rain on fallen leaves,
through steaming breath
which, so soon knows
death.  Let it rain.
Let it rain the last drop
of sunshine from existence,
and whet the world with
darkness.

I stared at the hollow plastic black handles,
disgusted.
my blood shot eyes burn within the cheap
yellow tape
used to keep the covers on so they
stay sticky.
red print, black letters, yellow tape
so ugly
I looked at their cold metal tan shelf with a
sticky stain
then up at the gas station attendant, a fat
greasy man
in an unwashed t-shirt stained with
armpit sweat
who stared at nothing, mouth agape
and useless.

I thought how little care went into the
lint roller,
one purpose with no need to be pretty
or perfect.
how little care his mother put into
raising him,
how little care he put into himself,
sickening.
disgusted I lifted my gun with ecstasy
and fired.
a smatter of red decorates the bland
station walls
that shines with rapture in the florescent,
dimly lit lights.
lint rollers only have one purpose, so
I leave them.

In a gorgeous bunch of bright green grapes
the purple pigment was suspicious.
It took courage to cleanly twist and taste
to find it too, was delicious.

She lifts a heavy lid to look into the trash
finding shriveled sisters on skeletal stems.
They had hung themselves atop
their vines, wasted gems.

She caught a peek of the clever cook’s salad-
all green grapes served as superior fruits
oblivious to their missing colleagues
grown from identical roots.

In a gorgeous bunch of bright green grapes
the purple pigment was suspicious.
Because the cleaver cook took no chances
the patrons will never know

purple was delicious.

Didn’t know I had a bite,
hidden and queer,
but the doctor
took a good hard look

said it wasn’t right, awful bad,
might just burn me,
burn me
an eternity.

Said don’t worry,
applying cream once
a week should
keep the hell away.

It had never burned,
but I used the cream,
which began to bug me,
badly

in the dark I’d scratch it,
‘til it bled, ‘til it was
black and
ready to rot

ridden with ****,
I oozed and withered,
but I was so set to
stop the burning.

A friend said it wasn’t
a bite at all, but a
birthmark, covered
in snake oil.

I fired my doctor forever,
quit the cream, and
cleared up
      just
              like
                     that.

I can't hear snow melt
through glass or over voices,
drops of cold sunshine.

Not sure how it really works
I go and ask the clerks.

Ages five and up…
it’s hard to ******,

he said.

Really? It’s simple?
Give an example.

Turn on the boy and he'll find the girl.
Everyone's given it a whirl,

he said.

*******, I’ve already:

poked out my eyes,
which left them leaking.
bruised my thighs,
which won’t stop aching!
and sealed my heart’s demise
for future breaking.

Stunned and oblivious he cocked his head
opened his mouth and said:

You’re doing it wrong.

Dark and stolen
whisked away to stone
and cobble corners

only torches light
the way through
tombs and teeth

of skeletons and
corpses, masses that limp
through darkness

groaning forward
to their yelping doom,
little red rats ready

to take their place
slurping at you like
scavenging

snakes.  Onward you
march toward gray’s
grim madness

hacking through the
goatmen barking
choking on

the tan man’s blood
breaking the darkness
splashing bats

that charge you so.
Lava boils through
the grey gates

clashing against
the storm rider,
teasing every

chest that guides
your way ‘til
you find the tunnel-

The bones that
take you toward
the bat like wings

naked ******* against
darkened walls
bestowing

****** stars.
The fiery columns
of exploding

knights erupt
with swords and
shield that

please you so!
Gotterdamerung,
Grandfather,

The bone laden
levers, cracked
only to bring forth

the demon spiked
in red and purest
evil, aggravating

Apocalypse, fire
and slashing, nothing
but constant swings

‘til silence, screaming
and a crystal lodged
within my being.

Diablo’s end
entrapped,

Within my being.

I wish you could see me, the new me, now.
I’d take back the words I used to believe.
Blind faith, was all our age would allow.
All of us right or wrong were still naïve.
Would you laugh at me? Or would you smile?
If I knocked on your door- said I’m sorry?
My memories sweet, of a girl thought vile-
the cloudy night sky now clear and starry.
You were just confused, godless and alone-
given a life we didn’t understand.
Too young to have known, we’d cast our cold stone.
So strong, ****** and bruised, yet still you’d stand.
Dare I say these words? Catlin, I love you.
Funny, you’d never believe it was true.

Grey blankets of fog drifted through the dimly lit streets.  The rain only a whisper, softly seeping into umbrellas and jackets.  I stand still, watching as masses of black and brown overcoats hustle from grey cars to dull brick buildings.  Flesh, red lips and blonde hair steal my gaze.  In a sea of black umbrellas, deployed as bomb shelters, hers is still wrapped in nylon, secured with Velcro.  Yet she holds it above her head as though it were open.  Pale hands caress the black handle, and tease the button that would surely shield her from my stare.  Stiff like a gargoyle I begin to wade through the damp and dreary to witness this anomaly more clearly.  From across the street she notices me, her attention stolen by flesh, bright eyes and wet hair.  She crosses the street, smiles and hands me the umbrella.  Without once removing my eyes from hers, or hers from mine she tears the Velcro and presses the button.  As quickly as the umbrella flew open with an awful and startling pop, I disappeared into the sea of black nylon shields.

When we were dancing on the moon,
prancing through the market,
and advancing up the mountain,
the rack was white, bright
and empty.

When we would walk to school,
undock and sail the seas,
and rock the midnight scenes,
the rack was clean, unseen
and empty.

Now I stare, loving
and loathing the rack.
Now there are shoes.
*****- worn out white.

They lie there, cold and still-
empty shells, their spirit missing.
No dancing or prancing,
no walking or rocking.

Just rotting, still
and alone.

The stars hid behind clouds that night
and the cacophony of the bustling city was silenced—
drowned out by a symphony of frogs and crickets.
The summer breeze blowing off the lake was musty
but refreshing.

As my brother and I walked farther from city light
he asked the same question again, “But why?”
I’d ramble, “Because I can feel it, and see it.”
“How so? Why don’t I? I don’t understand.”
he’d reply.

It was the same walk, and the same question.
But tonight was different— I was frustrated.
God’s symphony sunk into silence, and His curious
creature grew louder.  He asked one last time,
“Why do you?”

“Because Mom and Dad do!” I blurted out.
An abrupt yet fleeting silence struck.  My feet were
crunching on the dirt path again, and the frogs
and crickets returned, louder.  I walked,
mind swamped.

I was scared to think, but yet I did.
l listened and looked around with awe.
The stars came out, and the wind blew the leaves
in the trees and the tall blades of grass with hush,
and I knew.

All of a sudden consciousness was a billion stars—
a full yellow moon setting over houses’ silhouettes.
I smiled.  “So this… all this, really did just
happen on its own?” I whispered to my brother.
He smiled.

I spread my arms and lifted my eyes to heaven,
floating in the cool breeze.  The stars, wind and
frogs singing to me as my mind danced. I asked,
“Do Mom and Dad know why, does anyone know why,
they believe in god?”

My children will ask questions, “Why’d they stay behind?” I’ll tell them they liked the desert and had always hated white Christmas'. They’ll laugh. I’ll smile but stop after I think about the baking streets and buildings—the emptiness.  Every day for the last 200 years the news’ doomsday clock counted down.  Eleven billion people ignored it.

Burned inside their homes
knowing life had lost meaning.
Trapped forever.

Three quarters of the world watched instead of digging, building, saving, living just a little bit longer.  We had time, help and everything we needed to build The Underground.  But they said there was no point hiding from the horsemen. Life went on like cinema in fast motion— there was love still fighting behind the madness and dawning doom.

No flowers for you.
A feather to remind us
how birds used to sing.

She had striking wit and long blonde hair that made most people jealous—everyone cut their hair short because of the heat.  Today, it was announced that at our latitude, sunrise tomorrow, the surface will be too hot for human life. We held hands as we waited in line to enter The Underground and watched the sunset. I kissed her forehead.

That was the last time
It was only beautiful,
and stars would be seen.

As the last ray of sunshine touched her locks of golden blonde hair there was no sobbing, no weeping for we knew Earth was finished.  It was lost before the Sun gave up, to billions of bright galaxies glimmering so far from home.  Hope had hid somewhere in the vast void between our worlds, frozen and dying with every scientific discovery.

My children still laugh
and my wife will smile
just a while longer

after Edgar Allen Poe:

Feeling nothing but the arrow, as it’s biting at my marrow,
He smiles some sickly smile, and rides even harder than before.
I cry, clinching my teeth, trying to bury the pain beneath,
Trying to shake my disbelief, disbelief he found me on the moor.
He could not know! But still we rode together through the moor,
His burning arrow buried at my core.

Terror tickles my spine, as I feel my horrid horse resign,
The dark rider close behind, gladly grinning; anticipating gore.
Ears ringing with steel let loose, a sword my hangman’s noose.
Dismounting, I pray to Zeus, “Zeus, god of lightning’s roar!
Let loose your bolt!” I pray to hear that thunderous roar!
My request the gods do not ignore.

Bolts of searing heat strike the swift mount’s feet.
I watch him fall, drawing steel I wait for wicked war.
Quickly to his fearsome feet,  Darkness comes to make blades meet.
My heart begins to beat, beat with fear my faint face wore:
Death I cannot cheat, Death, whose face a smile wore.
Vengeance, his swift stride bore.

My blade met earth, along with honor’s worth.
Eyes still fixed on my fearsome foe, I turn and soar.
Laughing at my turning, lungs and feet now burning,
Stomach sick and churning, churning with his roar.
Him laughing at my yearning, and fear that fuels his roar,
I pray, “Gods save me, I implore!”

Laughter no longer sounding, just my heartbeat pounding,
I turn my head to see the smile, to view which I abhor;
No black eyes beaming, no sick smile grimly gleaming.
Just my mind now screaming, screaming for rapport.
Panic in my soul now teeming, sweat seeps from every pore,
I shake while standing, alone upon the moor.

Had I just been dreaming? Tears of joy now streaming,
I laugh and choke, these fields no one dare explore!
I look around relieved, but instantly aggrieved.
My horse is gone and I bereaved, lying on the moor…
An arrow I’d received.  Now another’s breathing I can’t ignore.
I look up, then nothing more.

Although
alliteration
alleviates
all
affects
attributed to
anticipation,
it will still spill
faster from the quill
than assonance.

Hallway light is out,
lost, leaving frigid darkness,
key can’t find the lock.

You're still breathing.
Listen-- yes--
it's still beating.

Why so aflutter?
Say it-- yes--
words sweet to utter.

Summon strength and rile.
Flex-- yes--
your cheeks still smile.

The world is bright.
Look-- yes--
morning sings its light.

Stars glitter in the dark like spilled treasures;
the countless diamonds scattered from horizon to horizon.
Angels fall to the earth, cutting the midnight sky for only a moment.

Shadows dance in the full moon's wake.
A pale earth beckons you to play while all is silent.
Accepting the invitation, brush rustles, and twigs snap.

The fire flickers, dancing with violent grace.
The scent of char brushes up against you as it passes.
Summer's cool black air whispers promise of Fall.

Brooding clouds billow forward with bolts of unrivaled splendor.
Thunder echoes through a dark green mountain valley.
Warm rain gently rolls from smooth skin, wet hair, and smiles.

A warm beam of orange light pierces the purple sky.  
Revealed stand golden rolling hills marked with evergreen.
Morning's mist pours over the valley; sinking and disappearing.

A beautiful young woman smiles, eyes glistening;
her heart beating with love too flawless for this world.
I look up to the heavens with endless wonder, and
whisper aloud, “I have found one of your angles."