This is the finish of the last glass
Before the whistle blows
This is the dregs of an old beginning
This is a moment when nobody talks
But everyone listens
When God spelled backwards nibbles his own tail
And bites the hand that needs him.
It's pure superstition
A belly-up parody of something real
It's a close encounter without an opinion
Nothing like this fear
Since Dragons swallowed the moon
No more remembers
No second guessing
The question has been asked and forgotten
A droll answer for a shallow point of view
A passing fancy
Without a leg to stand on
A total absence of punctuation
The ***-end of tomorrow
Trailing the sun like lost butterflies
Sham magic incantations
Masses black and white
Bittersweet strawberries scattered beside the road
Pigs rooting for dry tubers
And a darkness that lingers on and on
Like time in a test tube

We have watched for years
as you hid behind the shadow of yourself,
presenting first the gentle friend,
then jerking the curtain aside
to reveal the specter
of the soul ******* Vampire Squid.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,
locked in mortal combat
for the hand of Frankenstein’s bride.
Spin the wheel and roll the dice,
the lizard brain loves a wild salacious ride.

The cosmic salesman,
dressed like a Dr. Seuss Character,
pops open Pandora’s box,
and tries to sell you heaven and earth,
for a dollar down and pennies a day.
You’re not that kind of girl you say,
but in the end (just to make him go away)
you buy a trinket that dangles on a string,
and because you’ve already paid,
you pray to it nightly
for the happiness you hope it’ll bring.

It all begins like that.
the creation of the universe
is made of simple stuff.
The cosmology doesn’t really matter.
Every alley ends with an about-face.
Looking east the sun also rises,
not forever, but for today.
Remember, all religions were born before
anyone realized that time
was just a transition phase
between
now and then.

Cascading spider eyes
   Colliding galaxies in midnight skies
      Forty-thousand light years away
         Sixty-billion quarks on the head of a pin.
Seventy-five dollars a month,
Just to keep the signal coming in.

Milarepa, caterpillar of the Himalayas,
Sat in a cave
Ate nettles
And swallowed the cosmos
In a single gulp.

Gregor, my friend,
I hear you are thinking
Of ending it all again.
Please consider,
It’s entirely possible
There may be no where else to go.

Sometimes I never think about you
but then there are times when I do.

You came and went
in a month of spring madness
like a butterfly
squandering it’s exotic life
in a colorful three day rush.

I do not want to be
a collector
of chloroformed wings.
Then I think about you,
and sometimes I do.

My dream frames a time
when my mind settled
in to be what I had not quite
the discipline to become.

This month of tears
is eroding old monuments.
In a thousand ways.
I am in *******
to another bandit day.

How can I not forgive them?
An X chromosome
and a shorted dendrite;
Both of them churning their way
through a darkness thick as buttermilk.

But there is one thing
I can’t help wondering,
where were you,
when the bridge began to burn?