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
A Lodestone Abyss
Slowly,
I am drawn to the edge–
Iron flakes
To a lodestone abyss.
(I want to fall)
The cliff.
Toes grasp
The sharp stone boundary
Between land and air.
(I want to fall)
My pulse quickens
And I am alive.
Every cell inside me
Hums electric.
(I want to fall)
Swaying,
Back and forth,
I feel the lodestone
Pull me.
(I want to fall)
I hear voices
Far in the distance
Whispering dark warnings
Of gravity.
(I want to fall)
And yet…
And still…
(I want to fall)
I lean forward,
Just a bit,
And then some more.
Testing.
(I want to fall)
Frozen–
I stare into the chasm
Restrained by a
Dissipating fear.
(I want to fall)
The lodestone pulls harder.
The whisper fades.
I close my eyes
And leap.
(But can I fly?)
3-20-19
Defeat
Fury
Writhes inside me
Daring me to let go.
I drop to the cold earth and scream–
I’ve lost.
3-19-19
After the Rope Breaks
A crow caws
From the skeletal branches
Of the dying tree before me.
It jutts out,
Spear-like,
From the rocky waste
Where I lie broken.
A squirrel scampers up and down
Its rotten trunk,
And in my fog
I think he is
Ratatoskr,
Carrying insults
Between the eagle
And the serpent.
I try to shout at him,
Tell him to stop,
But my mouth is dust–
Gritty,
And tasting of chalk.
All that comes out
Is a sputter.
The world spins.
I heave and retch
From the coppery scent
Of coagulation
Filling my nostrils.
Fevered,
I look to the tree,
Searching for Hangi,
But there is just a dying tree,
And no secrets,
This time,
To pull from the well.
3-19-19
The Liar
Silver-tongued duplicity,
Through languid eyes
Pretend to see.
False confessor,
Plastic friend–
Illusions fade,
Your game will end.
02-19-10
A View from Below
Checkerboards upon the sky
And butterflies behind cold eyes,
A million shards, the shattered souls,
Through mist gaze up from secret holes.
A whisper trapped inside the glass,
A star that shines in rotten cask–
Empty the vessel, pour in the truth:
You are the fly, but the web’s in you.
3-4-2019
One Day You’ll Wake
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
Out of Reach
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
Going Under
The tide rolls in again
and I am
stuck,
unable to break free
from you.
I watch the water rise,
and slowly,
I am engulfed.
Panic creeps in,
as the air in my lungs
struggles to
escape.
I fight the urge
to give in,
but ultimately,
I know you will have
your way.
I exhale into you,
and you then
breathe into
me.
At first
I struggle.
I thrash and flail
and convulse,
until a quiet,
faraway feeling
slowly
creeps through me
and I am calm.
I see waving rays
of sunlight
cutting through
the blue-green
watery grave
in which
you have buried me.
The light fades.
Something rough,
and unseen,
and enormous
brushes by me
and I know
you will consume me,
destroy me,
but it doesn’t matter
anymore.
I feel your teeth.
It is your turn to thrash,
and I am a rag doll,
flung every which way
in slow motion.
A grey fog
begins to encircle
my vision,
growing darker,
nearing black,
it steals my
sight,
and then
I am no more.
7-9-2018
Another Fool
I want you to be overwhelmed
by me;
breathless,
dizzy,
unable to turn
away.
I want you to see me,
all of me.
I want you to want
to explore
all the hidden corners
wrapped in shadow
that no one else
can see.
I want you to persue me
relentlessly,
to fight for me
like I am your most coveted
prize,
your fate,
your only.
But you are lukewarm
in your attentions.
For all your
lust
you are empty of
passion.
There is no subtelty
to your art,
and your arrogance
betrays
your hand.
You love to play
the hero,
but you are just
another fool.
6-24-18
Shattered Mindspace 