Segment of Historicity

 Friendly travelers
casting off gravity,
transmission built to talk to ghosts,
a roadside distinction.

Just say this:
transit of spirit animals
nothing living,
don’t tell lies.

Beat spirit,
respirator buzz,
shadow gratitude,

confessions to my unborn daughter:
when the heart emerges glistening,
one mustn’t expect figs from thistles;

to see what other people don’t,
to see obstacles as inspirations -
to be a peaceful warrior 
in an invisible cinema.

Feathers and Fancy

 Dreamless and lost
in a mind of feathers and fancy;

headless
without ceiling,
nonsense drenched with
the unhinged conviction of
solidified knowing.

No, no;
it’s heedless 
yoyo disintegration
of runaway spirits
scattered in the ceaseless tock
of arhythmic time.

Electrical metaphors,
impulsive,
unstable,
but oh so pretty;
previously seen  in the spastic dance
of St Vitus gone a rye,

unplugged
in a 3:00 AM
torpor.

Secret Amusement

 

Every source of secret amusement
comes with the cost
of isolation, and
the threat of smugness - 
conviction of a specialness,
a vestige of a
childhood inkling
that, inhaled
like some illicit powder,
maintains that delusion,
when the rough truth
remains: 
it is not so.

Shifting

 
Like everything else,
human connections shift;
from neglect, 
from ineptness,
from the stranglehold 
of family ghosts.

expectations demand retrofitting,
the broken remnants of disappointment
are discarded 
onto the scrapheap
of loss.

S’MORES

  Acquisition and clean up,
the things we do, and those
who are tasked with the remains
of our desire.

This nobility of mission,
of keeping things right,
unnoticed when accomplished,
issue of complaint
when left undone.

In the doing resides
dignity.

All else is failure.

Uneasy Laugh


With the uneasy laugh of horror
The World Clown Association decided
to put on a skit:
two balloons under their bosoms
and carbon dioxide sparklers.
The balloons didn’t fill up equally,
and there were butt prints in the dough.

Hidden incendiary girls,
mobilized vulnerability,
eat bitterness.

Boom, Boom! 

Custom is the king of all;
they would wish to get paid to devour 
the corpses of their fathers.

That way they’ll be happy.

Animated ornaments
at the Kitty Cantina;
The Heavyweight Sisters,
Dark Monkeys,
and The Mutual Benefit Society,
obstructing government administration,
negotiating worthless instruments;

their words were a desecration of silence,
the transformation of radical ideas 
into culture, a diehard rejection 
of the idea that we ourselves might be 
one such cataclysm.

Human exceptionalism, the
madness gene,
gradually blinkered,
like a star role from no-man’s land.

The dinosaurs came, 
got too big and fat, 
so they all died 
and turned into oil.