Shaking hands shaped by worry
tie the knot of plastic
A bubble home for the hard green cup
where brown and white
mixed lay married.
Dainty legs in dark blue denim
hasn't time to he romantic
A worn out sister played by hope
shuts the door panting.
It clings to a robust tree
head hidden under rosy pink
edged in yellow
Sticky webs of empty lies packaged in boxes of deception by the wizard that doesn't work
like the results they provide,
on the small bedside table
Boxes and boxes of cozy containers
and cards of capsules
47 I counted them
current and extras
They choke my sight
then I am groped by the smooth blue robes worn by the youthful shepherd
posing aside a grey rock looking yonder
into the distance as insta-natural as possible in a pastel painted picture framed in wood against the wall.
Unstable molecules in tiny airtubes,
many, breakdown and explode
like little landmines
A bioluminescent lit organ assaults a
dense night flashing brilliant
to find a mate
Six strong neon-green throbbing blinks
Six slow seconds of unimaginable
wordless dreamless dark.
I turn my head
The whole unsettling mass of reality
is torn apart into vibrant colorful morsels,
as my eyes
"Oh God, if you're here, heal her now
and you'll have me. Show me what those confident tongues so eagerly confess.
Another sticky empty square
covered in thick blackstrap molasses
slapped to the face of the fool
who likes sweet things.
What happened to the omni-this, omni-that CEO of God enterprises?
"Go on Death" is what that means
"Go on Death do your job" is what it does
"It's your time.
It's to test your faith.
All slogans for the man
who believes and dies.
Culture creates the fool
Hope keeps the fool
Belief kills the fool
Thanks for doing what all those boxes
and all the pictures
on all the walls of the world do
a gaunt kind of skin-to-bone sight
a bad flavor
like a meal with no taste
crack-lipped, framed by dry
delivers deadly blows to a heaving chest
that says; "Give me air"
yet lungs say no
is sucked from the pit of my cold stomach
then up through the spirit of a warm heart
I plaster the feeling in the shape of water.
My eyes puddle
Fluttering as a twinkle
through soft beams of sunlight,
the drop glistens
on the pink and blue chequered blanket.
All I have to to offer are busky palms
to soothe this battered body
before you are torn apart by what
puts things like us together.
I swallow her frame
Her calf - bone
Squeeze and move
my hand wrapps completely
pinching a sausage sized piece of muscle
not big enough to walk
between plump thumb
and meaty middle
Squeeze and move
Her hip bone is angular
It fits flush in my hand
like the hard front peak of a cricket cap
when held above the grid
Squeeze and move
My chunky tentacles massage over
wire-thin barely blue throbless veins
that decorate her meatless paws
and twig-like fingers.
Squeeze and move
It's after midnight
Thick curds of desperation push
Again, through a splendid backside
a special toosh
slogging a dancing night-fever
to beat the two-to-four,
a beam as bright as a green day
cuts through the black pitch of night
I hold her hand
A thin filling between two slices of mine
I look at her eyes and turn away
Have you ever been pulled from the center of your heart, ripped head first through the narrow crack of your own chest, tossed aside like a skin-sheet onto a concrete glass-covered floor then squashed beneath the majesty of a billion dancing floor-clapping feet attached to a shapeless void shapeshifting as slideshows between all things gone, here, and still to come, stopping on the body of a small blue boy that sings in ghostly echo;
"Don't turn away from this.
Look till you see me through the eyes of another beause this too
will happen to you
Clap clap clap clap!
I'm coming for you too.
Trapped in a square tunnel made of brick, walls wide enough for one bus no brakes to speed through - no escape,
I accept what will squash me
I Face it
I Stand before it
I stare at her eyes staring back at me
A deep dagger stare
Two parts steel
until there is only steel
I simmer the room in soft whisper;
"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."
I hold her hand,
patting the top as I warm the bottom
I smile for her, at me
I smile back, as me
A skilful mimic
Here I come
I have light and breath
I see yours
I come at night
Not for genes or sex
I hunt and gut
Hawking down I come as death
The gaps between her labored breaths become bigger and for a second I drift at the sight reappearing on the sandy dunes of an empty dessert space pushed by a dying wind I can barely feel.
A sharp salty tang toils the tip of my tongue and brings me back to her.
They have changed
And that place where
*The Fireflies Lose their Light
My Aunt died from cancer a week ago.
I sat holding her hand and watched as the life energy left her. It was a sad beautiful scary breathtaking event.... They say you feel something when you are around a person that dies. It is true. It is quite the experience. I don't believe in "better places"
but I'm also not saddened by this. No need for anything more or anything less than what happens. Death is the climax of life.