A Secret

“There is a dream outside. 
I am dark and imagined and 
I can’t wake up….”

I have forgotten how I write.
My voice is with the calendar,
in the cemetery,
dusting off a bottle. The sun has moved
in on this town,
drying up oranges,
turning water to dust.

Today, I am a reflection.
A left over.

The wind is locked.
My phone is dead.
People have stopped watching.
I am underground,
away from cancer and traffic.

“…and the dream is inside, too.”

Light is nothing, not even artificial.
The birds are an alarm;
God’s warning.
If someone could crush my hand with
a hammer, I could stop all this.

The world is stretching.

I want my voice back.

Class Insecta

Graves,
lunar sleep keeps well,
well-wishers dwell.

Carcass swell,
full flesh wanes soft,
quick frost defrosts.

Then,
Class Insecta. Blind
bite, night gnaw-
ing on wet lawn
string through
perky juvenile floor,

thick cover over
six-square deep sleep.

They eat.

 

Wild Madness

as wild snow lay speechless
covering
his Mango Mini plot

a sleepless widow installed herself
nearby,
in her fresh candied madness,
purring away
with soft blue shivers

from deep in his part
of the Earth,
he sang up to her
and the woods sang
and the owls sang
and the black wolves sang

her moonstruck feet floated slowly upon
a snow belly ground
garnished with sympathy
dancing
with her entombed love

as wild snow fell, time grew
more cold

the beautiful relict
purring away in blue madness
while her sweet
charcoal mane lay in
wait
for The Eternal Voice

to call them both into frozen
lunacy
for always

Soldiers

In the beginning,
it was as if barren logs
were thrown together in heaps
for
decomposition

cautious steps
young
benumb

do you hear the bombs?

we are in belligerent land!

The Speaker is right

hazardous air hovers
stagnant
air is vacant

a perilous scent lingers
under
my nostrils
disorienting
direction

South twitches!! To the left!

Barren logs
are not!

They are
amputees!
Victims of explosive surgery,
nerves of Soldiers’ exposed;
an operating table…

God’s acre.

Soft, barren bodies
thrown together in heaps
for decomposition.

A few operative
bodies
are moved,
thrown together in heaps
for bandaging

sent home to their
wives
children
friends

with a perilous scent
still lingering
under their nostrils

disorienting
direction.