once we were one, so close
now turncoat in lakes of
oleander, creeks run poison
we two betrayed

what stolen ideal cast
in stone against her?
my anima still wants love
from me, yet twists on proverbial

dime

coats were rejected
colors negated, unflown
prisoner of tumble town
chained like a queen

a shanty wish disregard
so no wings, air of nonesuch
grace barrio color to fly

in my mind, sleeping
mariachis playing loud,
my anima rescued me

real,  such desert here
just my shivering id
skinned seal, bad memory

still hopeful still here
surely mi anima mi alma
will grant my dying

wish

I am the traitor of my anima

We live in times of innovation.
Winds of change affront the nation;
wind most welcome – by a few
(the masses know not what to do
with engineered progressive change,
their morals slow to rearrange).
And thus, in ornithology
we find an apt analogy…

Phoenix-like the vulture rose
in rainbow raiment, from repose
Its plumage all askew – a freak:
a mutant with a painted beak
borne of winds but lately blown.
This strange new hybrid (yet unflown)
did twitter forth an avian boon.
It preened its plumes and croaked a tune:

“I represent that rarest fowl,
far wiser than outmoded owl…
A dazzling swan of change am I
brought forth to liberate the sky!”

(Yet more appeared a fractured emu;
fair is fowl post-op… they tried to
cross said emu with an ostrich!
(What the hell – the surgeon got rich
changing apples into – mangos;
altering the twos to tangos…)

Fresh from gender suicide
he moulted into she. Beside
herself (itself?) with grief, regarded
previous selves as false: discarded
Sir for Madam overnight;
fixed it, mixed it, made it right.
Since God was wrong the first time ‘round,
Man (or something) thus is bound
hormonally to tweak and mutate,
hastening rebirth’s freakish due-date.

A manly bass – and yet the face
was poorly paired in his/her case
Soprano ought to have resounded –
yet the voice left one confounded.

Rainbow bracelets notwithstanding
this was clearly modern branding
(on the forehead – like a beast?)
well, Jesus said the truth at least:
that angels are of neither gender
(hence no need to check the member.)

Lest we offend endangered species
I commend transgendered theses –
paired with warning and a fable
as they turn the feathered table:

We may nurture fair to foul
while nature shrieks a hideous howl
but foul to fair cannot return;
thus trapped, both Eve and Adam burn.

I categorize one type of experiences as futility loops
Like Jumped-through hoops and Unflown coops
Another type, I associate with Red the ***
Like I felt you *** and *Just use your thumb

You,
you who opened the doors to my soul with empty words that left nothing but unclosed holes.
Your eyes hide the lies that have never been told and the secrets of a life that none can behold.
Knives and razors open flesh and bone,
my blood remains still and unflown,
No pulse to drive the life they hold.
Silent is the world I walk, dark and alone.
Unscathed by the elements,
mother natures own,
the creation of forces wholly unknown.
Torn to shreds emotion has won.
There was never anything there and there was never ”the one”.
Cruel an imagination can be telling more tales to myself than even you would believe.
I never really actually believed but forced upon myself to concede, that you were my dream breathing and living.
My dreams are alive yet I remain a figment of reality shrouded in the mist of your thoughts.
Unknown to all but me the real truth.
It was all make believe,
There never really was a you!?

I always felt
  when it was time to die

The Muse would know
  before you or I

The hours borrowed,
  the moments loaned

Return to feelings
  and verse unflown

With eyes never clearer,
  or heart so bold

I make my exit
  —with words untold

(Schuylkill Expressway: February, 2016)

You can no more teach poetry
   than a tiger to hunt

It must first be inside you
   from those things that you’ve done

You can no more teach poetry
   than an eagle unflown

If the words just won’t come
  —you’ve got further to roam

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)