Accidentally locked out
Of my cavern,
With cold for company.
Cold, and thoughts
Uncold:
Kept hot in the thermos in my chest,
Kept sweet:
Borrowed juice of a ripe fruit -
A peach, do let's say a peach -
Uncold company,
And in loneliness
A warmth...

A neatlyfolded
Origami Man is going 'round
Cleverbuzzing and kindsmiling
At little sillyshining things
That sometimes climb Him,
With My name folded up inside
And warm in the thermos
In His paper chest -

The stem of a mouse wineglass
Is not so delicate
Nor is He any less
Solid than the granite
'Pon which I'm resting -
That something fragile should be
So arresting...

The thought pins me warmly
In place,
So what of a wait?
Inside or out, hot or cold,
Somehow somewhere He is
Impossibly folded up
Around Me.

I can wait.

Frozen for millennium, looking eternally over its territory
Someplace it's own, hard fought and for which many fallen, his own
A man of stone, gazes, immobile
Part of the mountain, now, to those below

Play in its shadow,
Gaze at its likeness
So similar to man
Large brow, hawked nose
A common man

Moments measured in years
Too unconcerned to bother
Throned high on his mountain
Kept to himself, memories of battles
Friends, brothers for this valley

In the valley, children play
Not concerned with a likeness
Too common to stare
Leave that to tourists
Who come and they go

Eyes shift with a rumble
Grating, smell of granite on stone
He sees soft children, not of stone
Knowing life, not hard
Not like him, of stone

Parents, families tell stories
Of the creature in stone
Eons have past, myths, legends
To scare children, laugh now,
Old widows' tales, all told

Protector of the Valley, his title bestowed
Passed from crown to hand,
From times beyond old, to seek and be told
His memory is not foggy, sharp and bold
He watches for signs, of evils still known

A rumble, earthquake, they know
Not gods of fire, nor devils below
They built houses of stone, solid and uncold
Women skitter, men more bold
Children laugh, cry; depending on delight

Small creatures take wing, a flurry of flight
Soaring through the air, not for those as he
Their moment is ignored, not the threat he seeks
But from whence they come, something astir
A rift in the ground, a creature of Below?

Buildings lean, no great such thing
Prosperity is well, good neighbors to help
A man looks upon his home
His family safe, wife at his side
He is not alone; a sound takes his eyes

The creature was large, an Elder
Beyond language and time, seeking who-knows-what-this-time
They have come and he is here this time
Again, he moves, reaches for weapons
For stone, like his hide; for earth, like his mind

Some monster, some flesh of daemon
A creature, unnatural and bold,
Ripping earth and spewing foul
Springing forth, denying safety for child and wife
In an instant, the man is alone

Unmoving for years, centuries untired, readies for war
Rock flexes like muscles, stone tightens, coiled and then unfolds
From his seat, his throne
He joins battle, swings lethal, heart cold
Elemental, Warrior-King just as old

The man, stuttered by sight, then sound, both unknown
Falls to the ground, some part of him rolls
He looks up to see the mountain
Falling down, then up, and down
Time slows and it falls on down

The King sees the soft, fleshy man
Not unlike his form, but not made of stone
Shaking the Earth, the man is no concern
Only the Nemesis, the creature that came before he was old
He meets it with weapon, violence and scorn

For a moment, the man saw the face of the mountain
Above him and cold, eyes of flint
Recognizing, but disregarding his life
It met the daemon, crushing it's limbs
Epic, fury, a fight to shake bodies of men

The creature was old, even elder to old
It cast spells of fire, brought curse to the land
******* power from life, it's nature to man
The King broke weapon, chipped fist
Losing both ground and tooth

Pulled to his feet, a neighbor drags him away
Between stone foot, and slamming tentacled limb
The great creatures smash earth, livestock as well
Together they clash, first forward then back
The mountain looks down and seems to grin

The King sees the earth and inside
On a grave he does now fight
Clenched in heavy stone fist
Forged in primordial fires
A weapon, fit for a king

The mountain slammed it's fist
Down. Into. The. Ground.
Wrist, then elbow, then shoulder gone
And the other, brought itself together
For the first time since mankind hand seen it

The soft creatures stared at him
The Elder Nemesis gathered itself
Calling its volumes to one spell
The small ones stared, mouths slack
And his fingers, at last, touched it

Half in the motion, of standing
Almost although an action caught in time
Men, and women now, surrounded by children
Who wouldn't know where to flee, stared
The Stoneman rose to his feet, great axe in hand

It was lighter than he had thought
Gripped, tightly in two hands, now
He leveled his gaze, tunneling
A spell of his own, one of fight
He spoke his words of death

The world seemed crushed, smalled to a sound
When the mountain bellowed, erupting noise
A scream, mad and angry, forced, primal
Trickling blood from their eyes, ears
Children, falling and for the frail, death

The Nemesis saw his movement
Was unfinished in either word or deed
Unprepared for violence or tool
Raised suckered limb, protect!
Sheered through, it sunk deep in to its mass

Again and again, the mountain struck
Slamming ax deep, flailing deep; madness
Bone, blood and flesh, raining down like hail
Children were picked, dead and live alike
Carried off far from this site

The creature was dead, Nemesis no more
But still he struck, drunk on action, fluid of motion
Again and again, pulping it beyond
A fury, his crown for this, soon to be spent
A lesson to be made here, Others, he suspect

Hours, the ground still shook
Days, miles from their valley homes
Weeks, they could still feel the powers to the west
No one to believe their stories
Only superstition by day, fear at best

The small ones didn't return
He pondered, again on his throne
No wonder, to witness, such an Evil
Unbridled violence, not for those
His wound would fester, he would not grow old

Fashionably
Against.  

Loudly.
Blood on blood.

Lie for a lie.
Truth for a truth.

Theory of Subjectivity.
Nothing I do is

-When it comes down to it-
For anyone but me.  

My warmest deeds were done
To feel good and uncold.

I find peace in it.
Reassurance.

Comfort even, when catching
Myself feeling good about hating

The haters, having completely
Forgotten the point of it all.

To not
Hate.

her bare uncold body stood on red ice but not breaking
Europa's gentle surface; delicate patchwork of Angelite Rose.
She was covered in butterflies who crawled and kissed her,
******* gently on her paper skin dressing her; peach-fuzzed legs
tiptoed across, antennae exploring her belly and her neck as if
she was a blessing from Them -- Them, and the Moon Bugs,
and The Cosmos, and the stretched sunset wings on the veins
of Pieridae who tickled the behind her kneecaps, fluttered and boasted
to Their Moon, Thirsty Europa, about Her.  She was a house never sought
but found between the fragile glass mountains, who, spitefully, were unmoved
by Jupiter's glow in the horizon -- the sky was half red.  She laughed
at how silly it all seemed. "Do you hear me?" said Morpho swimming
to her eardrum moving from the gentle hairs of her collarbone
like scarce grass. Morpho's electric blue wings that made Lo jealous
and the red ice crave more of galaxy insects.  His slender, tender body
as slim as the legs he pressed into the curled hairs around her ear, "Or am I silly
like unmoved mountains or the air you used to be able to breathe?"

write an anthology for which
broken part of me?
       the one that weeps for
        innocuous souls too early departed,
                or the one that split
                their necks open, looking
                for gold?

i’ll tell you, there’s
no treasure in the eyes
of the hated, and no
hope in the minds of
those who burn cities
to the ground just to
smell charred dreams --

staying alive
is a risk that permeates
the groundwater everyone
in my life drinks from. i could
be angelic or heretic,
new found or lost
to the ideas of men i once
was, before led astray,
before the radio chirped,

& my intruder’s openness
closed the hearts of souls
uncold

Buried a good friend yesterday.
A nice spot; high on the hill
With a view to the Trysil mountain.

His son, my best friend, as collected
As ever, watched the casket lowered into
Homeground, to merge

Over time into the matter of his
Ancestors and fallen friends.
Before the fog cleared and the

Mourners parted, we laughed again.
The way he would have wanted
Us to.

After the four hour drive to my woman's
Appartment, I was met with red wine
And a hug.

The flames from her fireplace dancing
On the leaves -yellow with autumn-
Of a tree nearby.

She sat in a t-shirt uncold, and as my
Shoulders finally lowered, I shivered.
Wrapping me in two fur blankets

And topping my glass off, she changed
The music from metal to Enya; louder
Than considerate to the neighbours,

But who cares? It had been one hell
Of a day, and I'd spent myself
Again.

Spent myself on sympathy and sorrow,
And had nothing left. Nothing
But her,

And a part of me cried like an old man
Who hadn't been able to ever
Before.

I was dead ready for her bed, but
Something... something warm, real, and
Very, very important

Kept my eyes open. How any sensation
In a human soul can blend with such
As comfort, and form contentment.

My roses fade; their apples too
But that you will not mention.
The Church-Bell strikes; the wedding ends,
And I grant you exemption.
I haven’t met the love, not yet,
I hope it’s only missing, as I remain
the only one
that you will not be kissing.

My hair was burned from ends through roots
Whilst yours had not remained
The name
‘twas written in my book
Since always in my locket stayed.

Our music heard through drinks we gave
In that Swimming-Pool-Library.
The boy undrowned as I did hold
Him in my hands like finery.
The back is warm
Your eyes uncold
And finally
I reach…

Through that crazy brain of yours
And to the heart you teach.