In a dream a spider swallows a snake and
smiles
like  a
giant yellow sunflower being  kissed   by
                                                                ­ bees
                                                            ­     who
dance  wildly  with the  wind  as  it  turns
white
with
anticipation.   The  snake  charmer   plays
                                                           ­         his
                                                    ­              tune.
The  spider  dances,  rising up,  stretching,
elongating.
Her  legs
disappear, drawing   into  her  body where
                                                           ­         they
                                                   ­                 turn
into a flickering tongue that protrudes from
her
lips.
She wriggles in her dance; her tongue waves
                                                           ­         in the
                                                             ­       air to
the melody, begins  to sing a  sultry,  hissing
song.
Then
the charmer's flute begins to move, undulating
                                                      ­                  to her
                                                             ­           song's
cadence.   And the charmer is himself charmed.
He
sits
in a trance as his snake-flute wraps itself around
                                                          ­                    him
                                         ­                                     and
the  spider  looking  li­ke a  snake swallows them
both.

i must be some sort of permanently exhausted pigeon;
claws clinging to the telephone wire
drearily blinking my way through
the morning meeting of the aerial acrobatic society.

i am a seagull swarmed
amongst the chirpy conjecture
of these early birds;
and my soul caws an honesty,
a wail, a howl, the truth.

i am a tainted swan
grittily paddling myself through the marsh
we call this world,
a lone observer of the acrobats,
the stickiness of my feet keeping me
flightless.

and you are a swallow;
redbull wings migrate you to warmer climates.
you hear the seagulls
but listen to the pigeons.
you notice the swan
but her murky shallows are too icy
for your liking.

and you are a chicken;
blind beyond your own free-range vicinity.
you catch the pigeons as jet planes,
and the seagull's whisper is alien.
you don't know miss swan.

swallow the stars
whole.

glow from the inside out
as the pain of what you've done
spreads seeping through your body
filling your veins
with excruciating light.

close your eyes against it and
find it's to no avail
the bright follows, the light suspends
behind your eyes, pinpricks
finding their way out
working their way in.

sell yourself for borrowed silver
scatter it on the ground as later
you cry out for a redemption
that never came.

finally
submit to the silence
you've swallowed the stars now
and there is no one else
there is just becoming
numb.

Evicted due to his past, for a time he was convicted
conceited were words spoken, as words repeated
Lost in the moment, this had come with a cost.
Now he walked out, one thought of why and how,
Spoken were words to a neighbour, a look now broken.
He motioned her with a nod seeing no emotion
The past was a moment his dreams now gashed
hollow thoughts his companion, this so hard to swallow.

Life sure is a bitter pill.

But instead of attempting to swallow it.

I'm straight up ******* choking on it.

I hold my breath.
It pains me to think I filled this basin...
Drop by drop...
So I can burry my head beneath the slap of water.
My hair tickles my cheeks as they swim.
Only when I'm allowed to, I raise my head
(just before I loose the fight with myself
to fill the void in my lungs from my screams).
I cough and listen:
The deafening heartbeat punctuated by whimpers and sloshing water
is broken as foreign air and sound renew the canals of my ears.
Your sweet voice is there
and I listen dumbly - blissfully - to it
as my damp cheeks are met with your warm palms
(like pebbles holding the heat of the sun).
We hold each other.
I remember of fond dreams.
And just as my hair sheds its watery seal,
parting and rising from my scalp in ribbons
I hold my breath again,
stabbing my face into the basin of water.
It's a ritual I'm to practice.
I survive by swallowing my desires and longings,
painful as they are to go down
when only to be brought back up in the end.

I was grieving in September
I felt loss
the sky was empty
without summers abundance of life
there will be no more aerial displays
swooping birds on the airstream
feasting on unaware flies overly engaged in their own ceremonies of the sky
high spirited flight, with purpose such a magnificent sight
I was grieving in September
for the swallows had gone
left for another’s warmth
another’s ability to provide
but they will return
they always do
to the white cracked home
in need of repair from winters effect
together making the home as new
and bringing new life to celebrate
and I will watch in awe
as they learn the sky dance of their parents
these thoughts
And the promise of their return
keeps me warm
as I settle into winters cold

The last swallow swooped a departing circle
spiraling low
over dusk reaped fields of stunted straw.
Corn harvest gathered,
hay baled for winter feed store.
Gold trashed under combine tracks and tractor trails scarring the soil which birthed it.
The swallow's the last wings of a fading love.
The field a churned despondent heart.
The crop waning memories,
nothing more.