These buses sound like dinosaurs
With screeching brakes and engine roars

Where did they hide a punch clock in the timeless solace?

Or did they hide it all?

Perhaps it’s difficult to see some mornings?

We walked together to the school bus-stop, Billie Jean and I,

…she seemed to have a thing for me although I don’t know why?

I had a birth deformity; my feet were horned like snakes,

…a scaly-green monstrosity that locked away my heart and mind,

…so that; like the time clock, no one would ever see me.

Even the trip to doctors in Thebes, it only made it worse,

...all the children in my town found out, and said that I was cursed,

An ancient Greek named Urias claimed;

That tranquil purple’s peaceful dawn had hid a pitcher of lies,

And Zeus’ anger at the act brought down lightning from the skies,

…and struck down the people just like me against a ballad of rainbow fusion sunrise.

For the dreamy cosmos exercises as the pantomime he realizes,

…the many fancies of his disguises that the panoptic mind has in its surmises,

And in their parrying fall the distended fragments of the egg,

…formed some like me who were formed quite queer, said to come from Apulian’s nightly fall of fear.

Glass-bottled visions of events not clear all framed in a circle of Plato’s Great Year.

My feet the scaly-green monstrosity which sealed my heart and mind,

Billie said it was a gift from that Great Old Father Time,

A spring of rocks, a great mountain, a whirlpool and a navel,

I guess one day I’ll become them all, if and when I’m able!

Walking through the forest after the rain
a man can see the moonlight
reflected on green wet leaves
one can see some other things,

these little pieces of something
that for us may seem special
they behave like raindrops
they sound like incomplete sentences

they taste like sedentary thoughts
one cannot explain what they are
but instead grasp them as black bones

from all the dinosaurs that didn't make it
to the big successful colorful impact
all of these things are nature, us.

Isn't life that way
Crowded city streets
Breathing stop lights
Singing automobiles
Quiet in the country
White picket fences
And tire swings
The sky full of stars

There are dinosaurs in the grocery store
And new born babes leading companies
And psychopaths becoming millionaires
And then theres you, and then there's me

Because life is that way
Movies in the theaters
Actors sway to the sound of a muse
Under staunch direction
But we're on a stage
Its not all pretend
We eat our food
And our medicine

Still dinosaurs roam the earth
And children play on slides
And crazy fools play emperors
And I can see, and you can see

You'll never know a fairer pod,
Than when you meet a therapod;
For a therapod will care a lot
And doesn't want to scare a ***.

So if you chance to meet a therapod,
Don't think that it's a terror pod –
A therapod is a rarer sod,
Unless you meet a pair o' pods.

Marsh and Cope
lovers locked in embrace
took it upon themselves
to make each other great
by destroying what they had
all the while
mapping new life with old bones.

The dinosaurs are dead.
Really dead.
Someday you will be too.

The horizon hung coated with evaporated sea salt,
a buttery rosewood sun dipped like quicksand
until it dissolved. Alka-Seltzer into foamy crests
atop the antique sea beneath

The sunset fell like a pinball until it reached a place to rest
miles below. It landed with a deep bellowing bass
felt in the spines of every being with a pulse

Until the water rose in braided mounds, navy and silver,
cracking heavy splattered warnings in the air like
chalk-dust on a clean blackboard or oily fingerprints
on crystal chandeliers, as if to say tomorrow.

When tomorrow came, Earth held its breath
as if bandaged tightly, protected in a giant net.
And although every organism capable of movement was in motion,
every set of eyes could not help but stick to the sight
of a shifting universe.

In a single blink, the whistling knot of dust and rock
split the sky wide open before cracking fiery into the Gulf.
Ripped open at the seams, the bright became black

And that was how it would stay as pupils constricted for the last time,
no one knew whether the dark was from the dense, leaking ashes
or from millions of scrambling feet on the dusty ground
running in neither direction, in every direction,
although everyone knew by now there was no more direction.

As it goes, their existence would become no more than a theory.
Their first footprints in the dewy clay moss
would become no more than a hunch,
and all anybody really says is that nobody really knows.