Slithering Things

I am itching
to shed my skins
and renew myself
with old desires
that seeth and writh
while I only dream
never taking matters
into my own hands.

but, flickering stars
still twinkle out here,
and it is always worthy
of a second look
with a kind breeze
caressing my skin
temporarily quelling
my serpentine urges.

yet, I remain the same
old before I was young
wearied of my battle
against contentment
choosing to linger
among the sslithering
confined within the squalor
of my complacency.

Rocking Dexter Avenue

Fingers popping
bodies swaying
I am stomping
to Lynam pumping
the people blending
screaming, singing
celebrating
another ending..
another beginning.

Bold, Black Letters

Slashed across the page

commanding attention

secondhand information

salivates your ego

as you taste it,

savor and relish it,

feeding your desire

to see another fall..

 

so, you sit up straighter

lean in closer

to pick the bone clean

in ironic desperation

to swallow the bitters

of the comically tragic.

 

now, here you are

with your belly swollen..

digesting your sins

as they digest you.

Blot (slightly off center)

Into your arms,
downward, I fell
reversing death.

and discovered clarity,
despite your attempts
to shroud it from me.

Eventually though,
I will fall out,
and rise upward.

Closing all windows,
as I depart,
that lead to your dream.

A Scarlet Thread

I left with no words that would venture
all well tangled around my tongue,
and lodged solid in my throat.

Yet, I finally spit them out
with a nasty flair
to cut you deeply,
as was my intention.

However, it did not feel
like I thought it would,
there was no weight lifted.

I only self righteously
stained my teeth
and viled my mouth,
with careful planning.

After Glowing

In rented rooms
they began late,
a lovers tryst
across the county line.

His observation
of alternating glances,
revealed intention
to the clerk.

They defined love
in fluid movements,
placing their guilt
on a bedside table.

Cakes and Ale

If you look for me
I will be gone
my legs restless
needing to stretch
in new directions
where I will live a soft,
simpler existence.

I have moved
deeper in the wood
in a cottage
freshly whitewashed
with yard tidy
where I will bake pies,
and tend a garden.

The sun will find me
in quiet solitude
walking the forest
with grandchildren
hand in hand
where I will teach them
to listen for poetry.

 

Riddle

Midnight icy demons howl
unleashed, a predator enslaved to prowl,
tearing through the black, black sky
blowing fiercely within the eye.

Across the field, the drifts I glimpse
as the white oak shudder in attempt,
the window pane begins to breathe
the screen transformed as if a sieve.

My hand moves up to clasp my throat
filled bittersweet as the storm provokes,
a pine tree snaps, a split jackknife
in rearranged environment so like my life.

Imagination rages in the prism of experience
heralded above,the night spews indifference,
I am as of stone, weighed to the spot
struggling to remember what I have forgot.

Entangled within is the message unknown
puzzling my soul, and then it is gone,
forever to be buried in ice laden snow,
and once begins thaw..I might never know.

Irrelevant

The pain continues,
an ebb and flow
it is what it is,
offering no escapes.

It arrives suddenly,
Then quickly departs.

So I remember,
that to live is to feel
and sometimes,
it feels like hell.

Pardon me while I shoot the TV

The box drones
with the daily news,
and progresses
through the
commercialism
of commercials,
and now that
I think of it, I must
have one of those
nifty slicer-dicer’s,
although I can’t eat
because I might
gain some weight,
and yes, I am feeling
tired, so I must get
some special vitamins
at Walmart, where
their rolling back prices,
and of course I’ll need some bling,
cha ching…

Keeping up with the Jones’
is the new american goal
the sure sign of sucess-
the accumulation of things,
and oil is an idol
that sacrifices the innocent 
for naught in Iraq…yet
all we need is just
one more designer bag
to hold all our stuff,
so we close our doors,
to the unpleasantries 
while we suckle propaganda
nevertheless,
we still tune in..
same bat time,
same bat channel,
slaves to the machine.