open sores ooze discontent
yellowish **** flows down the infected leg
red and hot skin swells and distorts
while thick green pasty rot coats the region
undeterred by the sight, white teeth flash
savage growls penetrate the night
as the pack looks to down the injured stag
gnashing fangs and yips of pleasure pierce the darkness
tearing sinew and ripped fur fly
damaging multiple square feet
I spotlight the affair
knowing tomorrow will be filled with
circling turkey vultures
and the sick smell of fresh death in the field –

yo  
yo
throw those old bags out the window
grab new rags like a big dog
act like you runnin the whole show
****** don’t know
banging on the street like rainman
counting yellow cars and scaring the children
building imaginary best friends
pretending that there can be no end
sending mass texts for *** to wrecked tricks
sickened by the life
wife in the hoopdee
******* bout, “I have to ***”
rollin to the grocery
shopping spree
canned peaches
5 for one thirty three
***** that’s savings –
raving to the neighbor
weighing in on the best flavor
push poppin
no stopping
little kids with dyed lips
diabetes floppin
moppin up the messes
guessing at the next spin
lookin at my lady
rushing in for the next win
grinning sinner finishing dinner
and the spaghetti was so badass –
hot toddy under the gazebo
getting naughty with my hottie
drinkin a placebo
fo real though
bro –

Thinking back to Thomas creek and sneaking a peak at the freaky little tweaker
in blown out sneakers a toothless mistress second guessing ******
thrift dressed house guest ******* up my speakers blown out woofer
wolfing down dinner mad slurping curry a beginner at twister
her sister, disaster, got caught ******* the Doberman.. unable to find sobriety
got gang ***** at the sorority doing an impression of Brad Dougherty
shoes to tall falling all wobbly knees knocking hostilely like a rasta in Montgomery
racially outcast Big Boi with a skin tare lash with passion unfashionable bastions
with rashes wear red sashes like Communist fascists I‘m a pacifist with a speeding fist
ready to dis any resistor to this transistor radio I eat filet-minion with boxers on
my mind be gone, like, no one’s home and this body roams all alone
with a *****, I’m a stoner, a postponer, ***** donor, out on loan
bought and paid for, caught with a lawnmower, impersonating a horn blower
like I was Gillespie at the Filmore, or Apollo theatre as a greater Walmart style
wearing a wife beater, not a reader, sort of a ******* not like Kim, more like
a mosquit-er drinking blood like it’s from a hummingbird feeder.

Given name Samuel but you can call me Sam was driving by the vestibule when I had to yell ******* Saw this little fresh dressed fool trying to run a scam and pushed him down the stairs at school Broke his ******* hand, I ran into the record shop looking for Manfred Mann ended up picking up this Book about the Son of Sam, a crazy killer from NYC shot women in the night got his lessons from a dog Who spoke with Satan’s bite. That homeboy is so crazy and just maybe is also right we got too many Idiots hanging in plain sight maybe we should pin them down under water bright until they give up and Lay still, you know, just give up the fight…but murders wrong unless your Snoop and then it’s just a case You overcome and get let off of by selling off your face, see Snoops a pawn deep in the game making Money off you ***** acting like he still the **** quacking like a duck any of you still following rappers Actors and sports stars are probably drowning your tears in a series of bad bars you remind me of Chris Farley Fat and drunk and dumb acting like you are the **** reminiscent of a *** or homeless man stinking of Gin old milk and mistake fake *** brother taking money from your mother hitting on your brother’s wife Trying to start another fight, its all-right, cause you white –

Pressed hard against warm flesh in the barely illuminated darkness guesstimating the blessings of your fresh mess, I ingest the best and leave the rest unstressed. Soft caresses underneath the dress bring visions of ancestral ****** in jest. My accentuated ******* bereft of the simplest zesty scents leave jesters lamenting about the repressed nexus of flexing wreckers. Flickering trestles rustle as the mesh lays lifeless after undress and the pressures of the rescuers sheds ravenous blushers rushing and undulating such as plush calves do. Fissures, wet, impress impresarios investing in resting besties and ******* lechers; a pitcher, ditched by the rich, flashes in the marsh stressing the finches and leaching petroleum onto the beaches.   I reach for another peach and beseech the mashed potatoes makers, “just take a rest” –

t’were the fattest of heads
got lodged in the slats
poking through red faced
freckles seemingly expanding
from a cavernous face hole
came the moaning of despair
the wail of youthful embarrassment
followed by the sniffling sobs
of one who has given up ~

water balloons flew
open-handed slaps
visited the wedged bully
spittle rained from above
a child with yellow liquid
told everyone he peed in a cup
as it streamed around his forehead
and passed his cheek
we could all smell the lemonade ~

parents and police
firetrucks and tears
fat headed bully was finally freed
glowing face became soft pink
leaving only the freckles and hair
to show red in the evening sun ~

steaked cheeks flashed angry eyes
fists clinched and opened involuntarily
silent mutterings of vengeance played
across bloodied and bruised lip skin
he closed his eyes tight
picturing only his father’s pistol
and the lunchtime
or recess
that would change everyone’s life /

words and images
slowly float     downwards

                        lighting gently
                               upon fleshy earlobes


seeking shelter
they dig      downwards

                      finding comfort
                             in squishy brain matter


tendrils elongate
stretching         downwards
    
                         inspiring memory
                               encouraging creativity



in the dark night eyes shoot open hands scramble visions scribbled scattered ideas surround the silhouette standing in the shadows



rest evades him
pages of poems fall




          downwards /

coal black raven sits atop the lamppost
perched, regal, with his prize
nestled within his beak
without noticeable movement
the walnut is dropped
crashing to the ground with the force of gravity
pushing all the way
the raven watches intently its decent
upon hitting the pavement below
the bird swoops quickly
gathering the feast before
any squirrel within earshot
develops a plan
beak and talon inspection shows nary a flaw
with minimal wing beats
again atop the lamppost
the raven drops its walnut
this time, slightly more hungry –

Absentee
filling the role, perfectly
of a creepy social media stalker
saving pictures to my phone
of a daughter I have not seen in person
for more than ten years –
spitting image
of her old man…
though she would never know it
she posts about her girlfriend
and I wonder if it is genetic
or anger driven
she posts about school
and I wonder if she is bullied
or accepted
I wonder
because I am too afraid to ask –
once upon a time
when she was but five
we met….
my ex, her mother
became my excuse
and I walked away,
again….
no matter the reasons
I feel the pain of that choice
and I think about her feelings –
I tell myself that one day
when she is out from under that specter
I will extend my hand
hopefully
as I have no care for her ****** orientation
or career path goals
only to be a part of
and know
instead of always
wondering –

I heard him say my name
just as clear as these words you read
concise and with force
as if I were a child again
on the precipice of mortal danger
as if at any moment
I could very well cease to be
or perhaps
fall so far as to have never existed –
the tar melted
smelling of old lemon acidity
pooling in the low center
of a blackened tablespoon
70 brownish cc’s
sat, still warm in the syringe
I pictured his face
and took the plunge –
I heard him say my name
but he had been dead five years
my father called to me
and then left me to consider
the meaning
what does it mean
when  ghost calls your name….
was I supposed to stop….
was I supposed to act…
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and pushed the job offer away
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and let his voice carry me to sleep
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and threw another five
years into the addiction soup
giving it just enough temper
and spice
to block the sounds –
I often think back
to a double-wide trailer
just at the edge of Hubbard
and the night my father called my name
while I stooped
in a ****** slumber
considering what was to become of me –

Her hair, flaxen wheat,


                           danced in the early autumn…


                                                   ­       
  
                                                      ­        my heart danced there too.

happening upon

a small     brook
                       fully in babble

I rested on moss, inviting...


  let thoughts     drift


                        maple leaves passed   /

passover…..



why the ****

                     is this


                                        still



                                                        on



                                                                        the calendar?

~




twisted copper

                  adorns this utensil

the weapon of choice

                over a sword
  


                        or pick ~



a relic

nearly forgotten...



my pen /

waking refreshed, happy
full of the knowing that all is well
no need to worry for asteroid impact
or salmonella outbreaks
I turned in my Capstone –
looking to the future with faith-filled optimism
they really can fix Fukushima
they aren’t spraying aluminum onto the populace
it’s really just what happens when jets cut air
pesticides and fungicides
combined with antibiotics and steroids
make our food safer
I turned in my Capstone –
longing to show the world the new free version of myself
not concerned with gay rights
un-involved with the Occupy movement
faltering on the desire to better myself through education
seeking only to fit in and make some money
reshape myself into a machine cog
I turned in my Capstone –

I heard a bird swoop from down on high
And call my name with glee
Asking me to come along and fly
Soar beyond the deep blue sea
To a land of love, warmth and peace
The family all awaits
Only one small thing, your breathing will cease
But come now, t ’is your fate
You’ve long out-used this mortal coil
And wear thin your loved one’s nerves
No longer must you sweat and toil
Be free, it is what you deserve
I cocked my head to consider the wing
And what it was he said
Why is this the message that you bring
Would you like to see me dead?
The tiny feather chuckled with might
And offered just this reply
“what if I said, with zero delight,
that this was the night that you die”
I stomped and cursed, swore and cried
Pleaded with him for my life
His head only shook and softly sighed
As he looked over at my wife
She needs another chance to really some find joy
And be done with your sickness and pain
Out in the world is the perfect ole boy
To bring her delight and refrain
From your nonsense and worry
Irrational fear
Make the choice, hurry
While the sky remains clear
I looked at the birdy and back to my love
Knowing not what to do
Closed my eyes and turned into a dove
And flew off into the blue –
I had been tricked and fell so far
Crashing to the ground below
I made a wish upon a star
To see my children grow
I prayed and pleaded to the sky
Asking the Christian god for a hand
Then I remembered that i could fly
And soared above the land
Only lightly touching down
On a field of flowers so red
All way still besides the sound
Of her sleeping next to me in bed –

unregulated pigmentation causes race wars
on the streets of a melting ***
the strain of freedom ideologies are too great
for the masses to uphold
children taught hate and bigotry sit in pews
praying to the god of war
the same god that spawned jesus and a burning bush
daughters looked upon as procreation tools
seek to be both fertile and babrie-like
but child-bearing hips are too wide for Cosmo
and skinny ******* only think of themselves
this is the current world
needing babies, but afraid to wear stretch-marks
needing children, teaching toddlers to ****
through video game indoctrination
and mass media persuasion
I sit alone on martin’s mountain
wishing the world knew about skin color as manipulation
sexism and mind control
fluoride and unfiltered water
like hammers and axes to those who would dominate us all
tools of a trade
trading lives
on the new world stock exchange

~


Heat mirage on sandy soil
disintegrating cirrus left from the cool night
skittering horn toad flattens to hiss before
leaving the sunbaked earth
for shadowed hollow protections.

Large red-bottomed fire ants
carry back to a simple hole cuttings of magpie
they store foodstuffs for the hard months ahead
while cleaning the land of rotting bodies.

Hollow bones stripped of flesh
begin to bleach and crack
stiff winds pile feldspar and quartz along the western edge
of a bird long free from nest building and chick rearing.

Only a passing coyote gives the magpie body a second thought
before turning west towards dancing foothills.   /

watery eyes blur after a yawn
unwelcome images play in the saline
chawed hands elongate
feeling tugged as the shadow calls
thoughts trail into thin tendrils
smoky whips of nonsensical incoherence
unfinished ideas void of flesh
waltz merrily with lost lovers
and screaming banshees
stretching and shaking cobwebs loose
only the hum of discontent lasts
alone with complacency
intellectualism flees
bad ideas pepper
only a single option remains
time to get the **** outta here /

~



thick

                    hide trembles


sluffed ice falls





                    miniature avalanche

                                      miniature horse   /

he sat on the off-balance swivel
fingers click-clacking the qwerty
casting side-ways glances
towards the term paper
hand-written
“and then”
“he took”
“the fish”
painstakingly slow
with wrinkles of determination
etched into an aged forehead
“the dock”
“was faded”
“greying Alder”
my desire was all encompassing
to run and to aid
push him aside and type
wind-style
multi words per minute
and knock this assignment out
“the old man”
“took my fishing rod”
“placed it into the truck”
the pressure mounts
and I develop my own wrinkles
each keystroke
a fresh new torment
for us both
“we drove”
“in silence”
“all the way home”
I sit in shock
eyes, both glazed and bulging
fixated on the far wall timepiece
barely hear the words,
“Mr. Temple,
would you print this
for me?”
an exhale passes my lips
I was unaware I was holding
And I reply simply,
“Happily!” –

vanishing hope
for consumption as a way of life
obese children shovel pharmaceuticals
down the throats of the infirm
internally developing low-tone hymns
relating to slow death by corporate greed –
albino judicators
pass melanin laws
felonizing  the populace
perpetuating the proletariat
while pontificating
on the post 9/11 society –
isolated rabble-rousers
screaming at eggshell walls
dislodge tacks holding together
the fabric of American culture
with ingrown and chewed fingernails
flailing armies
think back to trench warfare –
robust midwives mediate
heated discussions
as the United Nations blindly
support U.S. imperialism
looking for kickbacks
from energy companies
globalization giving all humanity
incurable S.T.D.’s –
the last free house mouse
bounds betwixt the ruins
energetically sniffing the rubble
seeking some small morsel
to satisfy its hunger –

free-fall speed fails to capture
conscious creation as a universal tool
neon tracers flash into oblivion
time archetype shifting as humanity’s truth
blurs lines of reason
and Neil Donald sits idle –

Go-re-ra grows in poison oceans  
and constitutional rights are being applied to sheep
in suits
rooted fruitcakes
stuck in last year’s Autumn ascot
and a 1927 spending frenzy –

three times before we killed 30,000 brown people
and for what
glory of a flag
misinterpretation of destiny
and god on the side of white industrialists –

sun wrinkles start to distinguish my eyes
from youthful indifference
to a Clint Eastwood style stare
looking for the one that needs killin’
in order to save this here town –

no entity exists as I read the pages of corporate personhood law
erosion trails cut deep into my cheeks
a landscape destroyed by reality and acceptance
there is still time to buy a small piece of land
and do my Tim Leary impression –

~
Water Skipper rests on surface tension
and I think about the knot in my neck;
if its tiny spider-like legs
could remove the stress I carry.
Long days of summer sun
leave the land dry and
turn green lawns to brown,
this little pond
will never survive July.
Scooting across the plane
the skipper leaves no ripple
and I wish to walk through life
leaving calm     undisturbed     waters behind me.    /

hearing footfalls
pattering on faux hardwood
quickly moving
from this room to that
seeking, endlessly
a small discarded morsel
or tidbit of foodstuffs
to gobble recklessly –
wet black nose searches,
snorting and sneezing
while surveying the scene
momentary pause
as the slightest crumb
comes to light
large pink wet tongue
scoops the prey into the waiting jaws –
nails against the linoleum
scurrying paws clatter
loud slurps from a bucket
and the crunchy rustle
of kibble in a tin dish
plopping down, flattened dog bed
one last sniff of the air
before laying a big head down
and trying to get some rest
before the next round –

Oh! Aged pup with whiskers grey
slowly bounding, the want to play
offering barks at break of day
sad eyes long at the empty tray –

can you still: jump into the truck,
catch a squirrel with a little luck,
swim with fervor after a duck,
walk through the house covered in muck? –

one hundred pound lab/ mastiff mix
memories come complete with pics
got him 10 weeks, already fixed
11 years later… with a couple of tricks –

Looking back at love and good times
river tromping and gravel roads which would wind
joys and sadness’s fill my mind
thankful as I draw the last line –

knowing illness which would not be postponed
will take my pup away from his bones
leaving me broken, sitting here all alone
I will bury him in the hills he roamed  --

some will say it’s just an old dog
be of good cheer and lift that fog
leave behind the mire be free from the bog
try something fun, go for a jog

some folks just cannot understand
love from pets is a helping hand
no one better in all the land
as if this were all just pre-planned

some greater mind knew our limit
granted a companion, perfect fit
like bat to ball or glove to mitt
one who will beg, roll, stay, and sit

protecting friend or listener
alert you to danger with a simple grrrrr
so much better than a kitty cat purr
with variations on length of fur

yes, dogs are best for humans in life
next to a child, loved one, husband or wife
they stand right with you despite any strife
and have teeth and claws better than a knife

so go on and take a little advice
even if you have the risk of some lice
and dogs will do nothing to protect you from mice
but in bad times they will even eat rice

they prefer leg of lamb or some other meat
but in evenings so quiet they will lay at your feet
and be at the door for people to greet
while offering something to periodically beat

but animal abuse is against the law
and you’ll do some time if anyone saw
you beating a dog with a log or scrimshaw
besides who could hit such a cute little paw

no, ‘tis better to love all our animal brothers
and give them the love we show to our mothers
without going overboard and taking them as lovers
….no ******* the dogs in the bed under covers! –

~



deep in the recesses of slumber
dreams are influenced by external forces

we pulled the mattress into the living space
for a little impromptu camping
and being in such proximity to the dog beds
we found their licking and scratching and chewing
to be near unbearable

white noise fan blades breaking up the roar

it was a dream
at first the high hatted chef seemed normal
presenting plates of deliciousness
when at once he grabbed an ice pick
and went to insanely hacking on a large frozen rectangle

it might as well have been a mobster ******
chips flew and the pointed tip plunged deeper and deeper

my eyes opened to a steady rhythmic licking
as the oldest dog lay against the Stearns and Roebuck

oppressive season
causes a struggle to breathe
unseen pressures mount without count
as prophetic undertones threaten mankind –
I try to unwind with Kind I grew myself
but the smokey flavor offers no solace
placing my weary head into my earth-stained hands
and any attempt at plan formulation is met
with only the recognition that the tears
falling from my cheek to the dusty ground
are not only soundless, but barely alter the brown hue –
Not often am I left uncertain of what to do
Normally I tighten boot straps and **** in the gut
pick myself up and continue the fight…
today tiredness overtakes me, breaking my
spirit and filling me with fear
unable to steer clear the queer feeling
takes my complete focus
So long since I gave my laurals some work
too much time has passed for me to go all
conscientious objector
the debt collector knocks incessantly
    the phone has not been quiet for days
         grinding gears and twisting metal
               fill my ears……..
                  and the sirens…….
                             the sirens………
                                      the sirens………

beauty fades to grey
foreboding storm clouds
pendulous
carry bigotry bolts
and the thunder of fascism ~

she tells babies
fanciful tales
leaving out the hot breath, sharp scales, and jagged claws
handing over a leashed dragon
for holiday /

a child walks through front doors
never stepping on a crack
plays nicely on fresh mowed grass
sheltered from truth
until the van pulls up
presenting brightly colored
sugar coated
reality /

rustling leaves
leave lingering pictures
of a babbling brook
under a leaning and twisted willow
whispering pines tell quiet tales
of squirrel forays
and moss expansion
while swaying gently
in breezes birthed in far off lands –
desert winds sweep
minuet particles of
ancient mountain ranges
and send them swirling on currents
driven by wind and waves
biting sand and snow
sting rosy cheeks
thousands of miles from the sun baked dunes
that gave life to the eroded –
migrating flocks sit locked
isolated and emaciated
waiting for paths to clear
and generational feeding grounds
to be open and thawed
tattered wings shield black eyes
and yellow beaks
from the grains blasting the land
after a global tour
floating on a cloud –

enunciating, conversationally
the opposite of yelling at a foreigner
only wishing to be heard
while maintaining my distance from the herd
self-assured closet nerd
flipping the bird yelling
word
to all my muthafukkas
the late night ruckus causes my focus to shift
drifting aimless I try to digress
but elementary recess memories
have me needing to confess long held secret rendezvous
the south bleacher blues
and clues to what this all means…
obscenely, I expect you to follow
and wallow a while here with me
only wishing to be heard
while maintaining my distance from the herd
late model Panel, three channels
aftermarket handle, scandal with Randel
and the move that opened the world
girls and shotgun squirrels, two lucky pearls
and the swirly, I’m sorry…
one black eye. the year of fry. crystal **** high
flying over Wah-Chang sludge ponds
drawing power from the universal force and a
pretty smile
only wishing to be herd
while maintaining my distance from the herd
meeting resistance with distance running
cunningly shunning become a man
planning on dying junked up
canned heat, Sterno and Dante’s Inferno
stomach churning when lacking the black
west coast ****** flunking straight life
lost little girl, I’m sorry…
burnt up rhymer scheming miner
trying to unwind, blindly, but kindly
only wishing to be herd
while maintaining my distance from the heard
flash fire, perspiring liar in dire need of a sign
crime pile out of style ******* wilding
free range beguiler husting that 20 dollar
wellness balloon
buffoonery…. T’was June, you see,  when it spoke to me
the year before two thousand and three
granting thee
needle freedom
preachy?
Peach Tea?
just like every other fish in the ******* sea………
………………………
…….
only wishing to be heard
while maintain my distance from the herd

what message do you bring
blue and gold dragonfly
taking my attention
as you dart and turn
where are we going
my eyes travel with you
over and under
around and through
we buzz flower tops
seeking feast or rest /

it is your quiet song that sooths me
on lonely cloud filled evenings
endlessly circumnavigating the pond’s edge
only ever stopping momentarily /

breathing deepens
your wings engulf me
sinking into a soft and inviting
exoskeleton
you transport me /

flashing neon laser architecture
silhouetted pyramids pass
increasing speed
as we careen
multidimensional beings
statuesque
gaze through me
looking deep into a subconscious
imprinting designs and rhythms
asking me to carry something back /

the alarm buzzes and I am reminded
on the windowsill
a perched dragonfly twitches a wing
dial turns twice to a 9 a.m. position
and fly’s off into the morning sun……

my mind reels trying to remember
fading dreams carry the
idea of a message into the ether

I sit on the edge
contemplating /

Each head accounted for
and every paycheck cashed,
we hunched near a campfire.
My father struck a match
and touched the tip of a Lucky Strike.
The horses whinnied softly
and stomped their hooves,
the cattle bawled in the corral.
My father leaned closer to the fire
took one long dirt-flavored drag
drew another square from the pack
and wished one day he could watch it all burn.

he sits angry
peering at faces
safe behind glass ~


language of confusion spews
double talk cross examined
fact checked by Christians ~


a nation on the verge
looks east and holds collective breathe
troll goddess versus the masked machismo ~


clinched fists slam faux velvet
then reach for scotch, neat…
alcohol blurs party lines /

1 –
backlit hand drummer
perspiration flies
low cloud hangs
feet in rhythm

2-
jiggling flesh
paint smears
and runs
musky lust fills nostrils

3-
fat fingers pound
pressure variations
timeless chanting
congas and djembes howl

4-
shutters snap
cellphones extend
capturing images
leaving feeling to memory

5-
eyes sting
throats contract
dust and sweat mingle
rivulets of joy
delta

musta been a million of ‘em
writhing and wriggling
layin’ atop the last damp hole
in all a’ Remines Pond
and the smell…
open sewage mingled with
boat launch at the bay
peppered with wet dog
and old rotting compost
the sun should’ve cooked ‘em then ‘n there
but instead they was just a ’floppin'
t’was late summer
and my youth driven memories
while foggy and scattered
still hold some sharp edges….
I set the pole and tackle box down
Rolled up my pant legs
Tossed my shoes and socks off to the side
Proceeded to step into the swirling mire
Near instantly the pain shot up from my foot
And lit behind my left eye
Screams of ****** ****** followed
As the crimson mixed with the mud
And fish ****
‘bout all I could think,
“I am bound to get an infection”
Turns out catfish have spikes….
Both side fins and the dorsal
……Wish ole pops woulda warned me on that one –

she spoke to me with baited breath
having just had a herring luncheon
I sat her down and hit her with ‘The Facts’
the 400 page volume had been recently published
she responded out of hand
and gave it to me
like a champ
her voice quaked
trembling with worry and nerves
I told her to calm the **** down
ease up
let off the gas
and just chill
coming closer and wrapping me up
she smashed me flat
planting wet lips all across my plain
holding tightly the reigns
I was put to stud
and broke the bank…
we both fell out
and crashed hard –

eternally confronted
each time Autumn slips away
by the ugliness of Christianity
blended perfectly with capitalism
as fat white middle-class *******
push and shove for the best deal –
my eyes recoil at the horror
as parents with the best intentions
place their children on a stranger’s laps
… strangers earning minimum wage
to help propagate a lie
all bent on creating entitlement
and grossly exaggerated expectations
on imaginary friends
both Santa and Jesus –
it’s a cold month in Oregon
for the spiritualist
barterer
sociology major
living December
in a nation of shopaholics
on their national day of rejoice –
I walk the streets witnessing mass consumption
of energy recourses
so thousands of twinkling lights
can show the neighborhood
how you love the savior more than everyone else
nativity in front
santa on top
retards sporting
a holiday mullet –
closing the door I am slapped
by the smell of pine
and hypocrisy
as I too
have a tree, decorated
standing in my living room –

~




Mars flashed like a plane coming in
brightness and rotation of color
reminded me of stock footage
nuclear tests on an atoll
      reds and oranges play in blue hues

wisps of black cloud impeded my view
and I thought about young men in trenches
love and comradery I would never know
Mars peaked back into view
      I considered Russian and Chinese prophecy

my own heartbeat became a marching army
covering the land in mist and smoke
thunderous explosions disjointing doorframes
whimpering children under dusty grey rubble
       loudspeakers reassuring danger has passed

golden curtains  move with the wind fire creates
a scorched lawn with a twisted fence
Pennsylvania Avenue potholed and transient
beyond that the ghettos smolder  
a nation bleeds life back into poisoned soil
       a lone perched eagle surveys before soaring into the dawn    /