The pay scale
for poets
is bleak indeed.
I could use
a wealthy
benefactor.
Where are you,
Lorenzo?
Even the Muse
needs to be fed
occasionally.
  - mce

To make a new world
you must be willing
to ****** the old gods,
step over their corpses,
through the madness,
out of the darkness,
eternally alone,
into the empty garden
of your own creation.
  - mce

The whiskey bottle is empty.
Now there is a sufficiently
sad sentence. Succinct, too.
It speaks a grave-side quiet,
as when emptiness is all.
The whiskey bottle is empty.
Five words leading only
to a garbage can.
The whiskey bottle is empty.
The simple, declarative,
syntax of nothing.

   - mce

What you love best
will **** you
and you will smile
as you die.

  ~mce

she got her blue eyes
from a dream.
she never is, she always was,
she seldom is anywhere.

jumping out of the fryin' pan,
my girl knows where I'm coming from.
I hope her fire will last

and her raw soul will open to me
secrets & musings & reveries,
but I'll never burn out. I'll always be free.

il joue sur son luth

des lunes ambrées
tournent en rond

une par une

la jongleuse
les lance

une voie lactée
opalescente

le clair de lune

haletante
la jongleuse se noie

~~~
he's playing the lute.

she takes
the amber moons
turning round
and round,

she juggles.

one by one,
they turn into
a milky way,
opalescent,
the moonlight

- a lake,
for the juggler
to drown.

a green screen,
the imaged voice
in my head.

all is
but
what it is.

and when
spring comes,
wounded trees
bear a blossom
in their own blood.