In Japan, there was an ice cold assassin, that rose through the ranks of the Lin Kuei Clan.   Mid snow flurry, he could avoid every flake, and seize the brittle crystal without breaking it.  He could walk on snow without sinking in, japan's cold winter, is when he was unopposed and most ruthless--slaying debtee and their family.  His ice cold ego, came into contact with a shaolin warrior, who was trained to feel the cold, and never run away from it, nor get used to it, but feel the chill everytime without hardening his self.  Sub-Zero was defeated but not killed, and scorned to the Gods during a snowstorm, " I am the better, and was defeated by a lessor, I appeal to the powerful, give me the power of ice, so that no one shall adapt to my soul's chill, give me the power and my clan shall be in service to you."

Then a snow crystal fell, bigger than most, and he clutched it, and looked in his palm, the crystal was in the form of a pentagram.  The wind whispered, " The most cold and still realm of hell will be in your veins, if you partaketh of this crystal."  And the power of ice, that no man could withstand was at his disposal, and he was locked in a contract, that was unbreakable.

He rose to leader of the clan, and changed the color of the assasin uniform to the color of the cold region of hell, and he could not find the shaolin warrior who defeated him, and so slayed his mentor.
One hot day, his soldiers came back defeated, by a pearl diver, who refused to pay tribute to their mafia.  Sub-zero impaled the clan's soldiers who had their uniform in tatters--by raising jagged ice spears from hell.  The ice never thawed, and the men never fully died, but looked up at the high cieling from their bespearment to a mosaic of an icy and lonely realm-- a message to anyone who fails the clan--that you shall be pierced and preserved.  Sub-zero took the rest to pay a visit to the pearl diver who had stained the Clan's uniform with the blood color of disgrace.

The pearl diver, was in the bay diving down to the bottom for pearls.  He felt the water suddenly get cold, and swam upward to the surface, where he came in contact with the surface of the water, frozen over, and he saw the boots walking over the ice.  They were holding heads that leaked onto the clear ice underfoot and as the pearl diver struggled for air underneath, he saw the heads of his family dropped onto the ice.
Then Sub-zero kneeled down, holding his wife's head to the drowning pearl diver, and placed it on the ice, so he shall see the horrid picture as he drowned underneath.  The Clan took leave, from the bay.

The pearl diver did not fear death, but went mad, as he sank downward into oblivion, staring upward, rage took over his once good heart, and he turned away to look into the depths, shouting " Let me born again, so I shall live a life of fire, so that anyone who dares come close, shall be scolded, GOD OF REVENGE, LET ME BE BORN AGAIN."
The pearl diver breathed in the water unblinking, and his heart stopped, but still he lived as he sank reaching the bottom and there was a scorpion at his feet, and the depths spoke, " Let this scorpion sting both your eyes, and command the fire of hell, and be born again, to melt the ice."
He took the scorpion--who glowed hot in the dark depths-- and stung his eyes, his pupils went from his eyes, leaving milk swirls as his ovals of revenge.  " Now let it snip your lips and chin, so that you may breath the painfull sting of fire upon your enemies without singing your own flesh."

The scorpion greedily ate his lips, tongue and chin, giving him a mouth guard of skull.  " Now you are born again Scorpion, arise, and REVENGE."

Scorpion, screamed, no longer a human voice, but demonic, and grabbed the chain from his boat anchor, and climbed. Upon reaching the ice barrier, he touched his hands to it, and burned a hole and emerged forth.  He pulled up the chain with ease into the air from the depths, the metal barb on the end that served as an anchor, was now for impaling hearts and not the sea bottom.  He snapped his arm and the chain coiled around his arm, ready to sail out to impale and bring his enemies up to his eyes, so they can feel the painfull sting of fire up close, and see Scorpions eyes.
He walked to shore, his feet singing and melting Sub-zero's ice as he walked.
His walk was illusive, as a flickering flame, Scorpion could not be percieved directly without mesmerizing, as a fire in total darkness.

He reached shore, and found a Clan member, he harpooned him with his chain and barb, and brought him close to his face with his chained anchor, and melted the henchman's face with his hot breath.
He stripped him naked with his curved pearl knife, and donned the uniform of the Lin Kuei, ice blue, then the uniform turned yellow from his hot blood underneath, turning the uniform yellow as if it was boiled alive in a ***.  Scorpions' veins serpentined on his forearms, his muscles always a'sweat and full of blood .  The color of his revenge was yellow, mocking the blue Lin Kuei's uniform with the color of cowardice.

He tracked down Sub-Zero to his Clan hall that resembled the cold layer of hell with victims adorning his walls and floors that were pierced by ice sculpture and still a 'quarter alive staring at the cieling.  Sub-Zero felt the slight thaw of his ice, and knew the presence of Scorpion.  

Scorpion flickered from the torches that bedecked the walls, and burnt the guards throats with his hands so they crawled around uselessly.  When a clan member espied the demonic ninja, Scorpion was behind him, breathing on his neck, and the guard fell to the ground in three pieces.

Sub-Zero's throne room, had no torch, no fire, and Scorpion could only enter without his flame illusion through the front tall doors.  
" You have fought your way into my layer, just to realize it is a glacial tomb assassin," saithe Sub-Zero.

" Scorpions demonic voice echoed to him, " YOU HAVE MURDERED DOWN THE PATH OF LIFE, BUT THE PATH WAS THE THROAT OF A DRAGON, AND I AM ITS BELLY, YOUR TOMB OF STINGING ACID."

Scorpion took Sub-Zero's eye from him with his harpoon chain, and beat him mercilessly with kick and punch.  Sub-Zero's summoned ice but it only melted near Scorpions hatred.  But the water from the melt, slowed Scorpion--so it was hand to hand by their opposite powers, negating their satanicly endowed powers.  

But Sub-Zero was the creator of Scorpion, and so had the advantage.  Being beaten, and his face smashed, his nose flattened to his face, exposed rib slats, and his testicles smashed, Sub-Zero feigned mortal injury and non-defence as Scorpion walked up with his milky eyes to do his finishing move.

Sub-Zero's forearm protruded in injury from Scorpions kick before, and formed a sharp dagger, and this dagger sunk in Scorpions brain from beneath his chin.  Sub-Zero won with the treachery he knew best.  But Scorpion's body turned to hell's flames, and melted the layer completely drowning the wounded Sub-Zero, killing him, as Scorpion himself died the second death being extinguished in cold water of the clan layer.



They were sent back to hell, and forced to stand side by side of eachother, as Satan's servants of fire and ice--still donned in the Lin Kuei assassin robe,belt, and face-guard.
All of the magmatic, scolding statalactites dripped behind Scorpion who stood before the entrance to the fiery region of hell.  He stared forward with his scolding white phosphorus eyes.

Behind Sub-Zero, was the still and frozen layer.  He stood next to Scorpion, to the entrance of his own realm, with pupils bordered by ice frozen rivulets.  The proximity to eachother was their hell, and Satan was their master.  Scorpions pyscho hatred heat always attacking Sub-Zero's callous cruel cold, and vice versa, so as they never became adapted to the terms of hell and eternity.

Scrounging local garage sales... near ten years past... I had found a flat, welded iron, rusty seahorse... 3 feet high... with a good seahorse shape and poise... edges welded and cut... after the haggle... twenty-five dollars..... perfectly added to my estate... covered rust in gold sheen... mounted upon a tree... to greet all comers... with a seahorse kiss!    
     Seller said it was made by the same artist... of the turtle lady statue... to be found in Corpus Christi!  Asked if I had seen it... my reply... No, but I liked the seahorse piece! He expounded... the artist... only had one leg... but was a surfer... well known for this trait... in Corpus Christi!  
     After I had mounted the seahorse... upon it's tree...I did an internet search... looking for anything about the one-legged surfer artist of Corpus Christi!  Found... nothing!  
     End of May, 2019... visiting my sister, Donna... we were wandering Corpus Christi!  She guided us to the surf museum... not knowing the story... of the one-legged surfer artist... creator of my mounted seahorse!  
     Girl at the front desk... Kyla... real nice and friendly... told her about the seahorse and questioned her... she didn’t know... she never heard of a surfer with one leg or the turtle lady statue!  Looking at us just a bit strangely... one legged surfer???
      Donna and I... started our stroll through the small museum!  Along the right side... stood a long row of surfboards... I’ve never surfed... but I was imagining trying it with just one leg!  
      Anyhow... I didn’t really stop to read or look in any detail at any of the exhibits until I reached the back... there was a glass case... which had a piece of simple letter paper...  8.5x11... taped to the front of the glass cabinet!  I started in reading the last paragraph...

     “Welch, 53, and his wife, Chelsea Louise, 23, died September 15, 2001, when their car plunged off the edge of South Padre Island’s Queen Isabella Causeway, which partially collapsed after a string of barges crashed into the bridge’s support pilings!

     Thought to myself... Wow... Who is this guy???  I jumped up to the middle paragraph...

     “Welch lost one of his lower legs in an auto accident in the 1970s, but he kept surfing with a prosthesis.  He wore a peg-like prosthesis at first, then got one with a foot.  He won the prosthesis division of the United States Surfing Championships on South Padre Island in 1998.”

     In the glass case was a welded metal sculpture of a beach scene... with waves, palm trees, and all!  The piece did have some resemblance in style to my seahorse sculpture!  Also, there was a picture on top of the case... of Harpoon Barry... striking a muscular, no shirt pose... in his tattoo shop... his torso covered in tattoos!  
    
     “It is said... he was on the verge of suicide after losing his leg. In one interview with the San Antonio Express News in 1992 he said;  "I may not make it to heaven, but you can be sure I made no deals with the devil to get where I'm at now, "  Looking down at his false leg stretched out in front of him, Welch said quietly: "It is a real empty feeling when you put one of these on for the first time, especially if you are an adult on your own. And your mama'a not there and your daddy's not there, and the people in the hospital tell you, 'This is the best it's going to get.  I made my first leg myself, out of Hi-C cans. I couldn't wait for my leg to get finished. I wanted to walk. I guess I got the idea from the Tin Woodsman in 'The Wizard of Oz.' That leg actually worked pretty well!”

     I had found my one-legged surfer artist!  I walked towards Donna... who was already half-way leaving the museum...  I hollered to her... she just had to come see this ... “I think I found the one-legged surfer!”  She had recently had partial knee replacement... and was hobbling!  She said if I was fooling her... she better not walk back all that way for nothing!! She came back to the glass case... we read through the letter in it’s entirety!  
     Then we went... and told Kyla at the front desk... she again looked at us again a bit strange... but then reluctantly left her post to go with us to take a look... she was then astounded!  Said she never knew about the one-legged surfer... although she had worked at the museum for several years!  Said there were also a couple metal sculptures... at the front of the museum... she thought were also done... by Harpoon Barry!  We took pictures of those also!  

In the letter we also read...

     “Welch had numerous tattoos and body piercings.  He wore a tiny 14 carrot gold harpoon through one ******.  That is how he got his nick name according to a friend, Scott Gangel.”  

     "I am a unique, self-made sensation!” he said matter-of-factly... in the interview with the Express News!  
    
     It's been 18 years since eight people died when South Padre Island's Queen Isabella Memorial Causeway collapsed... sending 11 people into the water below... four days after the 9/11 attacks!  A string of tow barges had struck the supporting pilings!  A section of the roadway had collapsed...
     I promised Kyla... I would donate my seahorse piece to the museum upon my death!  I only hope my death... is as grand as Harpoon Barry’s plunge into the Gulf of Mexico with his young wife!  Wonder what they were doing during the plunge... what was Barry doing... yelling Yippee Ki Yay... or Surf’s up... Dude!!!... maybe???  
    
Surfed waves on one leg
Young wife... crazy life... grand death
Harpooned by Barry

©  2019 Jim Davis

Beams shoot, pierce, being.
Cross light, torch, hydrogen star seams.
The universe fabric'd slightly, by photon lattices,
Making salad, for ingestion purposes, of lettuces
Energy. Chlorophyll. Gathering.
Spectral blue/red (465 nm/665 nm) Smattering.
Frankenstein piece of art worn leather.
Earth is stitched lava, magma sewn together.

Forming the lawn face of all reality.

Reality is suburbia to the string.

A gentle vision, that,
The girl who stabbed me with a stiletto-

Half lucid entangle, enforced, but not pleaded,
Such expense at the offer of a lude game conceded.
Tense hours wandering, unlaundered and restless,
to the ripe desert fruit, found snared and defenseless;
felled by the brute who enforced vanity.
The frigid and harmless might stand to agree.

Now rigid in darkness, at the face of your palm-
two islands are bridged.  Awaken embalmed!
Silence, abridged like the unclaimed draw sweat
splattered in the fallout of our budding duet.
A matter, devout; raconteur be concise.
But no pestilent drawrings of a frail soul suffice.

America on a map!
Imagine the northeast corner.
I am in Vermont riding the Amtrak southbound. It's raining.
The clattering of wheels tearing through rusty iron tracks.
Forehead against the cold window's glass,
I hear a steam whistle.
I look out the window: grey, drizzling.
We roll,
past the barbed-wire fences that crown the prison fence,
past great, soggy fields littered with old tractors, and misty mountains far behind,
past brown silos that rise up, thick and crowned with silver heads,
past a deer leaping through a rainy field,
past a propane company--five great, white propane tanks,
past a marsh, harpooned by a telephone pole--a sparrow jumps off the wire,
a cemetery on a green hill,
little brick towns,
the Interstate--rainbow colored tipi in a field behind,
past a great, charcoal cliff, hard with sharp creases like a crumpled piece of black construction
        paper buried,
past a Sunoco station--green dumpster in the parking lot,
into a thick wood--past the cold rocks,
past brown leaves poking through the dusting on forest floor,
past all the pines, which have dandruff,
past twiggy sapling branches, only leaves withered and curled like dried jalapenos,
over a bridge--the great, cold river, wide and glassy--islands of ice and snow--the riverbank dirt is
        hard.
The bell dings thrice.
The train begins to slow.
It stops, jerks me back in my seat.
The steam whistle blows.
I look out the window.

Concrete platform, dark red station & roof,
a crowd of boys and girls, standing with perfect posture in sharp blue uniforms, hats adorned with
        golden crests,
they march on the train
and fill up the seats
of The Great Metal Snake: hollow and in it people sit,
The Great Metal Snake: slithering down the state,
It will leave me in a small city soon,
at an overcast station,
and slither down to D.C.,
and slither back, with the oily clatter of spinning iron wheels . . .
We took the snakes,
out of of our nightmares,
slimy green sliding through cupped hands to jump and bite your cheek, hanging like a lanyard,
or sliding through the sweat of jungle-floors waiting to bite ankles,
or coiled in redbarns, on piles of hay with spiders dropping down cold open windows in front of
        full moon,
full moon: silver train wheel.
I hear the steam whistle.

We took the snakes,
out of our nightmares,
dissected them with scalpals,
nodded and walked to the drawing board then built.
Decades later, the unveiling:
The platform crowd leans over the tracks and looks,
the bell dings thrice,
the steam whistle hisses,
the engine is coughing,
wheels are chugging--
around the corner He came,
with great, clear eyes like glasses:
black, iron Anaconda of Industry.
His brothers are barreling
From New York to Sacramento,
Siberia to Stalingrad,
Italy to France,
under the English channel,
down Africa.
From Burlington to Brattleboro--
barreling down the state--
I am riding His brother home.

Susana means lily of the valley.
Shoshanna, curled petals for hair and a bridged nose,
pollen specked and running.
I was named for Abuelita Susana,
she was a leather belt and anti-semite,
stinging my dad with welts until adulthood.
Abuela did not mean her name
until her stem shook down to dementia.
curled petals for a mind, bridged heart,
pollen specked and waning.
The only thing she remembered
was her grandson and a record player
and Chiquitita.
I am not like her.
She was harpooned, jagging,
never the lily of the valley.
I am glad I have a chance to redefine Susana.
A lily in a valley
of infinite Susana’s.

You painted your eyelids with green velvet and ruby red. The fractured mirror kept your insecurity at bay, as sparkle blue glitter poured all over your head from a little tin can.

We drove across the bridge, and through Shocko bottom, stopping at a nearly deserted parking lot sanctioned by an honor code. We double parked behind an Acura sedan, and waited as you snorted half a gram of Molly off your manicured fingernail into each
nostril.

You took in a deep breath, smoked a Parliament, and blew smoke out the
window. After ten minutes we shambled out of the car with our purses tucked under our armpits, and red fire dying in our eyes. When we reached the Hat Factory venue, the line disappeared from our view and we walked to the entrance where two bouncers were posted up. The tall giants marked our hands with black sharpie ink, drawing a large, bold “X” on each one.

Once inside the spacious warehouse, we ascended a white marble staircase and paid a ten dollar entry fee. Another doorman took out his marker and drew a red line, crossing through the dark black “X” that was drying on our hands. You broke off and away, going
straight to the bar. The bartender asked what you wanted to drink, and you requested water. She smiled and gave you a red solo cup filed with tap water and ice-cubes. After you thanked her, she handed you a bright pink glow stick that you wrapped around your forearm, fitting a figure 8 around your skin like a cloth sleeve.

On the stage was a young man dressed in neon colored plaid and skinny jeans. He climbed up a tall stepladder and jumped from the top, belly flopping on a beautiful African Queen bodacious gluteus Maximus, daggering deep into her soaking black spandex, the decadent bodies swimming on top of each other, stroking and staining the pink gymnastic mat with hot sweat and salt. A huge beach ball colored with red, white,
yellow, and blue pinwheel stripes sailed through the air over the balcony, smacking into a deathly thin model who was smoldering her Parliament cigarette into a clear glass
ashtray.

Mollywopped undergraduates gathered around circles where reggae artists harpooned inflatable black and white killer whales with thrift store bought switchblades.

Laying flat on his stomach was an Asian photographer snapping away with his Nikon digital SLR camera, pale hipsters in ***** black blazers and black fedoras hurling red and purple plastic assault rifles into the intense mass of worry-stricken college students carefree for the moment, gyrating and grinding to the womp-womp bass booming from rectangular speakers that squished in a disc jockey and his hardwood stand with his mixer and two turn tables. He scratched the needle along the worn edge of a battle-scarred vinyl record. His fingers zigzagged the sliders, pressed down on buttons, turned up the volume knobs.

Some hyper-maniac golden child bounced around the dance floor, sneaking up behind university sophomores mesmerized by the makeshift floodlights in the rafters blinking on and off. Conversations were made in the head, but never opened up when the girl approached. Stuck up super senior girls with heavy black mascara and matted eyelashes raised their eyebrows and swatted away ***** flies with a wave of their lotioned hand.

***** girls dress in high heels and septum piercing, their ear cartilage stabbed through by unclean metal. A rude person bumps into the Hyper-maniac golden child, causing the golden child to shove squarely into the rude person’s back. Name-calling ensues, threats fired and received, looks exchanged and bitterness rose over any other tension in the fuming room.

In the far right corner were a couple of kids making out; they’d just met.

Walking away from the fight, sidling between sweaty ugly people, the golden child swayed upstairs to the second floor, passed another bar and balcony tables, chairs, and dance platforms.
He went through a swinging door and joined a conversation between
a bunch of strangers. Wary around the golden boy, he starts practicing his standup Comedy routine, almost bombing on the first joke. Cheap jacks burned bright orange after a blue flame ignited the tapered paper end. Arms snared around the golden child’s body. Oh how nice! It was his friend from Modern Grammar class, he used to sit next to
her in the second row and copied homework answers from the blackboard with her.
She was happy.
And he was happy.

will some letters ever find their way to you?






impeccably yours from dawn to dusk
I bring forth the unlikely
with dreams cut cleverly from the cloth of space
and sprinkled with stardust stolen from god's lonely sky

it's a pity you can't stand my edgy fire
and I cherish this somewhat many sided love
like a mammal bright, a whale at karmic sea
harpooned and tried for strength and tested endless
how easily you flick the ashes of your blustering efforts
into the dustbin of my mind

begging this wild heartbeat to roost in your care
and for this restless pining to migrate to rest

eagerly pick my locks for the contradiction I am
to find your heart inside the confusion of this mainstay

Think how he felt,
chased relentlessly
on the ocean blue,
in high tides
& in low ones.

Powerful,
majestic,
he was a fighter,
not having much fun.

His blow hole
finally blew blood,
harpooned for his
blubber,
a little oil,
and a gold coin
nailed
to the mainmast.

Swim Moby swim,
may you carry on forever.....
blowing like the wind,
over the endless waters
& into the glorious sun!

David Crosby and Graham Nash,
"To The Last Whale: Critical Mass/Wind on The Water"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qoek1e8t2K4

From the moment I saw you
I was in love with you.

I watched as you floated around the room, like a butterfly collecting nectar, your eyes sparkled and glittered like thousands of facets off a diamond

As you moved, your hair undulated back and forth as if caught in a gentle ocean current

Your smile was magnificent, powerful, and awe inspiring, like the rising of the sun over a steamy exotic jungle

Across the room, you turned, our eyes met, and I felt a jolt, I had been harpooned through the heart. I could have fallen to my knees

I went from numb, stunned, to being on fire, with love and lust. I wanted you, wanted you so much. I could feel my primal urges and visceral needs rising and overwhelming me

I wanted to protect and provide for you, to build a house and hearth, to keep you safe and warm, a place to have and raise children, together

I wanted to hold you, feel you, in my arms, your head lying on my chest, snuggling, cuddling, purring like a newborn kitten

I wanted to look eternally in your crystal blue eyes, mesmerized at their depth and breath, like a endless desert sky

I wanted to kiss your lips, red, full, and moist like a rose on a French summer morn

You are a bijou, a jewel, like no other, rare, priceless, and precious, a gift to gods and men alike

I am grateful, for our brief, intense, and tumultuous love, like a shooting star across a darkening evening sky

white caps, near her shore
nothing more--those and voices
in the breaking waves

she alone hears,
as code deciphered,
their scribe, she is

faithful to the crashing
rhythm, in which she reads
the dance of the dead  

countless fishes' swishes,  
harpooned whales’ wailing, myriad men
mourning, as vessels foundered

white caps, waves, sand
symphony she alone hears, sees, smells
and understands as dirge

When we met
You were yet
A Princess.
Snow melted
On your younge tongue.
Winter seasons
Kept the secrets
Of your cold cacoon.
When you emerged
It was obscene,
You morphed into
The Ice Queen.

The white expanse
Of glacial thighs
Led to an ice-cave.
******* that once
Snared and trapped,
Have melted like
Polar ice-caps.

Your icicle eys
Stay frozen
In summer sun.
And all about
Your condition
Smells stale as
Franklin's Expedition.
Like Midas,
Minus the gold,
All you touch
Turns cold.

I'm not here
To lampoon
How winter's blubber
Made you baloon;
But on a walk
In Arctic noon,
Wear whale grey
And get harpooned.

I can't lie... I've been in love before,
Mad insane love.  A few times, heartbreaking sickening love... but never like this.  Never so deeply rooted and connected to it.
Harpooned and anchored to the shores and seas of this love.  Never before so lost and found, never so much beauty... never so much love.  Its never felt so right, never made so much sense... Never terrified or frightened me more.  It burns me slowly and quickly from the bottom of my heart and throughout my whole soul and being.  Its never felt like this... this good, this great... this...this incredible.  Its feels like I'm hard all over, from my deep within my *****  to the ends of my fingers and my soul and heart and mind... All ready to erupt and explode at just the thought of her name.  I'm happy... A new happy I've never known before... Its mad and crazy and insane and unexplainable... never before have I felt it quite like this.  This mad mad lunatic crazy love... I won't leave, I'll die here and come straight back in the next life.  Time and time again, this love will still be laughing and crying and sighing and smiling long after the hands of time and sand of fate have broken and faded away.  And I'll be right here with it... just waiting for you to join me.

I’ll look up and see a wasp
Or a bee, hunting around,
Ready to die.
Collaborations simplified in rivers abreast
Oh, the shores of Lethe are so delightful
With their ash marked eyes and solitude beggars
Potted plants of desiree, coal jutted shouts cross
Blanket crowds shoved in a bruised corner
With a madman screaming something about
Lasting generation and forced collaration.

See the basket cases? Claimed they were
From the devil, Dee did, muttering about kingdoms
and collard greens
With her stuffed, shrunk coat waddling round the
same Dickey’s, a corner from Westboro Baptist.
And kitty corner from the statues no one’s taking down
Cause Mr.White said nah son, that’s not right
As he bombed Bethel Baptist one more time.

And these shores are so delightful, don’t you see?
Harpooned sticks and scarecrows, oh sorry,
I meant social expectations, but who cares anyway?
Wondering why we all say “i want to die’,
Have you looked at the government mandating
People inhuman, or the money situation,
Should be on the news, but
No we here at Fox and CNN don’t believe that’s important.
Say, I don’t think we should have Onion headlines
On the New York Times.
So we say ‘i want to die’ and the Gazette tells us
it’s those **** video games again
or maybe it’s the stigma and lack of empathy from
The Powerful.

And you hear on the street,
“****’s ending this country,”
Sorry, I wanted a break from all this ******* noise
From a country pulling apart at the beaten seams
Of another unwritten book.
Anger, you’ll say, irrational, I’ll add,
But pointing at the statue in the park

And you wonder why all those wasps
And bees we look down on, the gerbils and
Hamsters
That we never pull a punch on
Why they escape through the way they know how,
Why, wouldn’t you too? But that’d require empathy, sir,
And apparently you lack more than morals, sir.

Look, there’s Dee, getting her collard greens
In her stuffy, shrunken jacket,
Round the corner from Dickey’s and cracked roads with
littered breezes blowing past cars open windows, honking and
brazen calls.

Welcome to the Lethe shores,
Don’t worry, you won’t remember a thing,
Slipped a bit of Liquid X in your alcohol.

I've been harpooned by your love
Sent to outer space with your smile
You've got more stamina than any planet
You've got more life than these pair of doves
I just set free
And I set them free for you
Cause they shouldn't call it falling
When I'm flying in love
Anti-gravity with you
Is better than a drug
You break the law
Without being wicked
And so,
I become your backbone
When you have no spine
I become your lifeline
When you need more time
And still if you choose to die
I'll help you die a beautiful death
My wire-walker
I'd fall for you, any day in any way
Ropes are bound tight
But I believe in you
No matter how much they try
To sway us
I'll never betray us

As the day
slumps on

and the afternoon
sun

is at last
harpooned

and reeled
toward

the horizon,
I,

sitting in my cubicle,
feel

my neck begin
to

list windward,
like

a sinking
sailboat,

its sheets
torn,

naked mast
shuddering,

its heedless final heading
being

that white fog
bank

that rolls over
the

coastal range
to

my west out
the

third floor
window.

The fog
cranes

its neck
ever

so slightly
upward

to meet my
gaze,

like a timid
dog

just pulled
awake

after a short, fitful
nap.

So sweetly sit’s the muse
She’s graced you with a gaze you can use
Lava-like ruby eyes rile and rivet you
But one wonders when she arrived
She came in the dead winter of your sorrows
She came after life harpooned hopeful tomorrows
She came when friends became frigid and hollow
And why? Well it’s your pain that she came to borrow
Her actions lacking rhyme and reason, are so hard to follow
Tears that turn hard thoughts to liquid,
Are the polish she uses to make her crown glisten and glow
Cries that crowd your chest in chronic pain,
Are the notes she plays on her lyre for magnificent melodies
Despair that drips like acid until your soul stews in steam
She dips upon her eyes to see all more clearly
So though we may not know her whim or ways
Mysterious muse will mingle with you on your most defeated days

She wasn't like Ariel
Didn't want to end up having legs,
Wasn't interested in babies
Prefered the idea of laying eggs.

So she swam the Sargasso sea
Where the water's warm and dark,
And had a romantic fling
With a hammer-headed shark.

He was tough his skin was rough
He never meant her any harm
But in his throes of passion
He bit off her left arm.

The relationship was short
Ending in painful failure,
He had post ****** depression
And was harpooned by a whaler.

She bought a fishtank for their young
And got a job on land,
Pulling off one-legged sailors
With her one remaining hand.

The End.

Harpooned a droonin’ raccoon
Couldnae huv ‘im talkin’
ae paced away fae ma hoose
Gawked me oot ma wheelchair joggin’

Bolted efter ‘im doon the lake
Chased that snake stalking
ae tried tae make like steak
Sizzling along nae-longer walkin’

Caught up wae ‘im et boulders cabin
Stitch stopped the grass in ‘is tracks
Promisin’ ae wullnae go gabbin’
Dinnae I know that fur a fact

Flexed a boot aff raccoon chist
Ae splashed in the wat’r pantin’
Harpoon - trigger, flick o’ the wrist
The meat was ******' outstandin'.

our
gray past
a
battleship of scars
harpooned
with
fear
is
who
we are

A silver pail of crickets turned over in the boat , the prisoners ran for cover to take a vote ... The Aye's would return to the bucket to risk their fate , "Our captors appear ready to leave the lake anyway !" The Nay's would seek limited freedom and shelter somewhere on the boat , beneath a paddle , a raft or in a tackle box , subject to be harpooned and cast into the drink at any moment ! Three young crickets said "To hell with such tomfoolery ! We're off the boat this very second , we'll swim for our very lives across the waters treacherous surface ! Two out of three lived to tell the tale , to witness all the Aye's and Nay's cast off into the watery abyss , the price for giving up one's independence , the very fruits of resigning oneself to be falsely governed , to lay in chains or hide in shame is no life at all for fisherman nor bug !

our lives twist and turn
ebb and flow

our past
the knuckles of twigs to branches
the snake of a meandering river
creating lakes,
a hand and a reflection of
current state

there was beauty there -
nervous bodies collapsing
on each other, peacetime
handsaws dividing time
like honorary saints

we harpooned chaotic hopes
and dreams, orphaned our logic,
made love in a tree under glittering
moons

if only it was
so poetic

really, just cannibalistic
lonesome ******
looking for an angry fix
vultures aflutter for a carcass

perhaps that was me
not you, no matter

our magnetic climaxes
of mind and flesh only
bloopers of lives just
begun

now
holding my daughters in these
hands, my hands, smugglers of
truth and lies, i hold blind hope,
whisper conspiracies in their ears:

“the only way to win is forgiveness and love,
religion is a man’s fairytale they’d like you to believe,
the apocalypse will be man’s not god's,
politics is a man’s excuse for action,
love is a man’s lie for ***,
poverty is a man’s idea of justice,
war is a deformity of man’s making,
thank god you’re a woman!”

our disfigured past has
changed the genetic genome
of unimportant history, given me voice
and perspective

i can’t be sorry,
for the lies i’ve told,
the love and hate i’ve wrought,
its the greasy yarn of my soul
i weave in a simple shack of promise,
that, they’ll be better than me

i can’t be sorry

He took the blue sari
and it worm him
like a blanket of
harpooned skin.

A rope wrapped
itself around his neck
and colored his
abyss-black lips red.

It was seen as blood
to those around;
unbearably sad and
overflowing wth
pure joy.

It was his personal sand dune;
sinking into concrete waves
of the nearby animals;

He took the red sari
and covered his insides
with their hidden words;
said the present moment
was the only elusive meaning
we could depend on.

And then without warning
hushed the entire world
with his siren.

He took the gold sari
and it gave him
the music that
tears limbs of dancers apart;

and that satisfied him
to no end, but he knew
deep down his shallow waters

that the eternal dream

was just getting started...

Never summon the evil whales forth
lest they hunger for a salt’s ******
or seek to ravage their ship.

They cry out havoc, scream tempest
to the ocean and sky
so the illhveli hear not their name.

Their harpooned blubber
boils neither to heaven nor hell
but vanishes only inside the soul.

They fear only the steypireydurs
the Great Blue Behemoths,
the protectors of sailors and crafts.

The salts’ wives smell the devil in their remnants
and to keep the fury at bay they call
their men honeyed names clothed in peace.

The mates consign this sweetness
to the void, a sea of faceless women
to be left alone in their slumbers.  

At dawn, they  return
to the great wide green ocean
that hungers for their flesh.

They chum cowshed, yarrows, ash,
throw plowshares, axes and pots creating
a sacred din outside the incarnadine circles.

Cat Whales would come forth
with their devil-angel flukes
half in sun and watery dark.

They mewl alongside,
resting in the craft’s wake,
diving when the waters darkened  

And the roar of Bull Whales spouting loudly  
through their blowholes would scare
the distant  cattle to stampede the waters.

The Ox Whales, swimming
faster than hand and mind,
would devour the calves

Leaving only nibbles
for the belugas that trailed
behind in white silence.  

Bottlenose Dolphins after herding
the Ox Whales beyond the spray
would jump straight high

out of the water
exposing the sun and mountains
appearing underneath them.  

In the rest between breaths
a Taumur awaited beneath their crafts
for the opportunity to break them apart.

On the glint of the horizon a Ling Whale
drifting like a mirage of barnacles
waited to maroon them on her hide.

Today, the Great Blue Behemoth
heard their anguish and would gently
guide them back to their sandy, rocky home.  

In their unsteady slumbers
they would hitch a ride
on the back of a Heatherback

And dive with it
to the ocean’s floor until
their last bubbles floated up.

Around them all the dorsal waves
of the Sword Whale splashed them
while she sliced them in two.

Far away, the Narwhale sniffed
their blood in the water and
waited her turn to eat.

But remember
I drink to avoid
Stumbling upright
On the keys
Arguments of my demise ensue
Swirling in darkened puddles at my feet
My stomach rumbles
So it's back to my knees
Back to what I knew
Before there was we

But remember
I drink to be employed
Mumbling something
Anything soft & discreet
Whispering sweet nothings
Grunting & grumbling as I please
My thoughts crumble
Call me the breeze
Those nothings mean nothing
How dumb can you be

Eat that *****
In a climate conducive
To a lack of currency
She will eat you
Inevitably
Swallow that man
In an environment *****
To hopes that last an eternity
He will hollow you out
Eventually

But remember
I drink to an asteroid
Cheers to iridium
Iridescent
Exposing the barren
Craters of defeat
In the daylight
Harpooned by all you see
Dreaming of nooses & nudes
Hanging on the hopes of being free

I can’t remember
Why I drink to devoid
Seared relationships
Inconsolable as to
What I think
So mighty
Is a man
Built in the rewards of captivity
Baited by the lure
Bathing in your sink

Eat that *****
In a climate conducive
To a lack of currency
She will eat you
Inevitably
Swallow that man
In an environment *****
To hopes that last an eternity
He will hollow you out
Eventually

Now I remember why I drink
So heavily
Sub par thread count
Substantially indebt
To a heart that bleeds
Soaked in *****
& campari
The stench of *****
& depravity
Keeps me on my feet
Keeps me warm
Swallowing
Every last drop  
& still
I need
A measure for quality
A plow
An axe
An analysis of seed
Treasuring the fallen tree

you have harpooned me
launched your sphere deep beyond the surface of my flesh
you created your own tunnel in a cave unexplored
i have become lacerated
the harpoon pulls my skin upon removal like a cobweb slowly being peeled off of a neglected wall
red dye drips at my feet, dye rich with iron, dye displaying a pigment of vermillion
i think 'I needed my shoes coloured anyways..' as my vision fades in and out
images become blurry, losing their fine, defined borders
becoming obscure visions
resembling underdeveloped photos in the dark room
to let go and let my soul linger freely,
perhaps this was the cure all along

OR

perhaps i should yank that harpoon free
fling it back to the source which it came
with my own two hands and two eyes
aim
wind back
release
one measly cut will not define who i am
I am victorious and my soul is with me
here.
to stay.

My first love was the sky….
All my eyes could scry were blue on high.
I couldn't stay in the air long enough to feel the sky's love

My second love was the moon…
lunatic heart harpooned by simple smile's boon.
She was surrounded by stars and I don't shine bright enough.

I tried to love the sun….
platitudes shunned and truth shot from love's gun.
Her light shined on tall trees before me so I took my leave.

In sadness sunk
Raged, regret -
Firing bullets at the open air,
Spitting fire into the freezing wind,
Harpooned by every passing person,
And forced faceless fear into a trembling voice
A timid thing, half-wilted down.

To meet one given hand
Proud with patience,
Crowned by this glowing act
Of harmless help,
Though I were kissed by that kindness
Fast though it fled,
Fast as flame I hold it in,
Loved by a gesture
Pitied without a please.

Rewarded by grinning,
What gold to give
That is, gold in memory,
That heart, gilt in gladness,
That smiled selfless
On one so sunk in sadness,
Loved by a gesture
Of harmless help.

Where was I when you were talking to me?
Moon-like dreams, but the side no one sees,
The harpooned surface taking hit after hit
To stay pretty.