Clover fields
and sun-drenched skies,
wispy clouds,
they are but lies.
Everyone
is shrill, is cold–
nothing’s real,
they’ve lost their souls.
Smiling kids
with viper’s fangs
ring their bells–
for death, they clang.
Lovers in
their secret rooms
turn to dust
inside their tombs.
Nations rise
while others fall
but this time
death comes for all.
Shadows play
before my eyes,
whispering
what next will die.
Go along
and play your games
while the world
erupts in flames.
7-7-19
A needle
pierces my flesh
and contortionist memories
begin to twist
through my
mind.
I try to blink,
to open my
eyes,
but am pulled back
to the phantasm display
whirling
behind my lids.
Real and unreal
blend,
then separate,
then blend again,
like a kaleidoscope,
and I try to focus
on one single
spot,
like a spinning dancer,
to keep steady.
The imagery
swirls before me,
challenging my
past
and taunting
my future.
I try to scream,
but my saccharine
coated tongue
rests heavy,
like a sandbag,
damming up
a river of
sound.
The world seems
off balance,
tilting,
and I fear I might
roll off the
edge.
I can feel
the other bodies
in this living graveyard,
hear their moans,
and smell
the sour
of their frightened
humanity.
I remember
when they brought us
here,
or I think I do,
and I try
to hold on
to their reason–
their lie,
amid our
threatened truths.
They said
we were dangerous.
A threat
to order.
Enemy combatants.
But that
is absurd,
for the only weapon
I’ve wielded
was a
pen.
7-3-19
It’s all
crumbling.
We ignored the cracks,
now rebar whines
somewhere deep inside,
and the foundations begin
to groan.
A cloud crosses
before the moon,
and I wonder how close
Hati is to him now.
Someday he’ll be caught.
The wolf will
devour
the moon,
in the end.
Even the music
has faded.
Each note blurs into
the next,
as they all rush past,
without notice.
Everything reeks of mildew
and rot.
Neglect.
I hear crows
in the distance,
and the foundations
groan louder.
It’s time to wake up,
dear ones,
or we’re lost.
5-12-19
The roiling masses
scoop ashes of yesterday
into purses of gold,
as they crawl through fog
unaware of its caustic fumes.
The scent of lavender
and a glint of emerald light
sneak out from cracked-stone monuments
to dead and misplaced dreams.
In the distance
A low wail begins.
3-21-19
A cradle lay abandoned
in a darkening room,
as one by one a dozen candles
expire near a forgotten shrine.
A bird of prey
perches atop a barren olive branch–
Lord of a dying habitat.
Night has fallen.
3-21-19
Silver-tongued duplicity,
Through languid eyes
Pretend to see.
False confessor,
Plastic friend–
Illusions fade,
Your game will end.
02-19-10
One day you’ll wake,
And it’ll all be gone.
You’ll feel like either you,
Or the world,
Has become alien.
Flags will still wave
On the tops of their poles,
Like patriotic cocktail decorations
For giants.
They’ll mean nothing though,
By then.
Selfies, politics, cats,
And disasters
Will continue to roll through your
Feeds,
But for once you’ll have lost
Your appetite.
The stores will be open,
People will have barbeques
And Super Bowl parties,
But they’ll have nothing,
Not really.
It’ll happen,
In time,
To most of you,
You’ll wake to see this
Stark truth,
But by then it will be
Too late,
If it isn’t already.
You’ll tear your hair out
Wondering how.
How could we have all
Let this happen?
But we will,
We did,
And we are,
Because even when we
Allow ourselves
To think of it,
We don’t think very far,
To what “can’t be”
Because it’s just
Too bad,
But somehow
Still is.
The end won’t come
Announced on CNN,
The New York Times,
Or the Huffington post.
They’ll still be shouting
Their warnings
Unaware.
The media will be
Frozen,
Stuck in a traumatic repetition
Of their warnings,
Unable to accept
That they were ignored,
While ignoring the nightmare
That surrounds them.
You’ll see.
It’ll all be gone.
Everything that matters,
Everything needed to
Sustain our humanity,
Will just be
Gone.
But you’ll still be here.
Awake.
Aware.
Maybe that’s
The worst part of all.
12-17-2018
How can something
Be so close,
As close as my own
Breath,
And still remain
Unattainable?
I reach,
I stretch,
It’s all around me,
Everywhere,
But I cannot grab hold
Of it.
The scent of it
Fills me,
Disorients
And confuses me,
Because it is.
It’s in the smell
Of fresh bread
Drifting from the bakery,
Lazily engulfing me.
It’s in exhaust
Thrown in thick clouds
From the tailpipes of cars
Working overtime
In the cold.
It’s the smell of a caramel macchiato
Mingling
With that of too many bodies
Packed tight
Inside a large mobile
Metal box.
In the stomach-threatening
Inevitability
Of whole shops choked
With artificial cinnamon
And pine,
It’s there.
It’s amid
The mad-dash rush
Of consumerism,
Filling stockings
And emptying wallets.
It’s in the calls and the ringing
Of the bell-ringers,
Standing in the snow
For charity
Outside over-priced
Department stores,
And everything their presence
Represents.
All of these things pronounce it,
Over megaphones,
Loudspeakers,
And chipper music
Piped in for the
Holidays.
Yet I can’t find it
Anywhere.
I feel like a
Blindfolded fool,
Stumbling this way and that
Inside a round room,
Eternally searching
For a corner
In which
To sit.
12-17-2018
Locked doors
barred tight
danger lurks
beyond sight
“progress” kills
nuclear war
oldest profession
that of a
whore.
2002
Shattered Mindspace 