Blackball Grumbler

The disease in my brain is against all
this joy! A Blackball Grumbler who sculpts; Brute
hands. I am clay.

Morning. Beauty bows before me as I adapt
to sun luster. My feet go dancing
through crush puddles, smiling
at Emily’s “thing with feathers”.

I have been seized by desire, lacking nothing
of devotion,
trust,
love.
A free life will make nothing of
space for flies….

and the flies are swarming in;
screaming pollutants.

My Air!!
Oh God, My Air!

Inhale. Fly wings. Pinions of
pollution!
I choke on despair. Discouragement
wrapping Brute hands
around my skinny neck.

Last night, I met Concord on
a front porch. We knelt together
as if flies never existed.

But, it is today. Every last
night, on front porch kneeling,
is outlived by the sunlight
that feeds
flies to the Blackball Grumbler.

Cyclone

Cryptic House of Knowledge,

I stroll,
I shift around your
halls – the deep and starving
space – hungry for
ambiguity and definition!

Where is the edible material hidden?
Do you have a frozen room
where you store it for keep?

Not frantic, but fixed!!
I want!
I need!
I am fierce on my knees….
I beg

Give me what I seek!!!

A deep rumbling vibration rips through the floor, knocking me from
my roots. I hear my bones crunch and snap as I hit
the concrete.
The House answers. It is evident. Strong.
The rumbling becomes deeper. It is here!

I roll against a wall, for
a seeker has no haven.
The building ripples and rips,
the walls shred
and crumble around me.

I am still.

I watch as a cyclone tears down the
structure that protects me, ripping through cement
and stone
destroying all that I had known.
The outside light came pouring in and
I am exposed!!

The cyclone stopped in its spot,
turned, it found me.
My frightened frame could do nothing.
The heart could not beat.
The lungs could not breathe.
My body and I just sat in fear….

The twisting tornado did not move
from its place, but
targeted my eyes,
smiled

and I understood!