Hope

After the devil walked out,
I set the house on fire.
A cleansing.
I went North to see the See-er.
She agreed with me.
We talked about herbs and tea
and the guns of history.

My dad stepped in as if he was
there all along. I tried not to,
but the Tulips were in full bloom.
The honey bees called me
by a given name.
I am on separation from myself,

and as ghosts came and went,
I left my silhouette behind.
I joined a rainy city for a brick
talk, but we spoke nothing.

The See-er followed me with a snap.
I jumped back to her possibility.
She meant to cut it at the stem
but I got more than usual,
and the Tulips changed color, over and over.
And during the middle of all Of this,
I found what she grew.
Hope.

Where Ashes May Burn

Limp beauty drops like spiders from
silk; stars fall to their knees.
Now you understand?
My little kiss!
My little wish for after-flowers
of genocide; lush with knowing
and innocence.

Not thankless, no!
Not ignorant as much as the
narrow sister that floats
over blue bells every six years or so.
Just simple, and simply a
slow desire for Gratitude.

About God

He may kill me
in plain love, He has
done more already.
His words are iron,
a heavy chain crushing
my fight.

I left a sleepy hill
for His voice.
My feet ached with disapproval,
but I went, as a soldier,
and shall we fight?

I hold armour in my lungs,
but my hands are wasteful,
braided together in conversation
with God. I would be proud
if I had it now. I would offer
everything, but question.

Here, He comes!
Don’t be late. I think
we settle on a couch, sinking
into resentment, I feel His chain.
I am not, but is He
free??

In God We Trust

I’ve been digging through past lives for
months, searching
for fingerprints
in five feet, eleven inches of

deceit dust covering everything
I know! How many times did he shed his skin
back here?  Dead parasites are proof!

He was on the roof when it caved.
Climbed  over four hundred days
with water and
a bible.

He left spoons and mattress burns below him,
tribe familiars blossomed following his climb,
extending gratitude,
tribute!

And he climbed, praising God, until he reached
Grace,
humble resiliency…

We sang!
We cried and we sang!
We wrapped our hugs in packages with golden bows,
throwing them to a skeptical world! We danced, twirled
through moon phases, a
fantastic celebration!

Then, a sharp raucous!
Brusque thunder crushing eardrums!

Blood poured from our ears
as the noise devastated. Bible pages
fell like confetti over
our joy; a tearful,
thick pollution!

We cried!
We fell and we cried!
We wrapped our memories in boxes with golden locks,
sealing them, our treasures. Silently, we
remembered, our Requiem,
a tribute!

All we know is that he climbed,

and that underneath five feet, eleven
inches of his dust, it is

in God that we place our
rusted
trust.

Manicphiliactic

Dark Horse boasts hands
eager for night hunt, absent
of thought;
of conscience, klepto-twins crawl under
homeless sheets, spider-walking up
discarded legs.

Pretty ladies rub more than stone
members, desperate in search of these…

Yet,
Dark Horse carries its empty rubbers,
mood and flavor
Sardanapalian desires,
weaving away at rotted earth fruit, leaving
spider-silk string

bound
around stiff ankles, legs,
thighs

marrying left to right
until necrophiliac appetite returns.

 

The Painted Lady

From the tip-top
of the towering
fortress,

where productions
remain silent but still produce,

where every rehearsed act
plays on, as if
unrehearsed.

Nobody would know the difference unless
they were watching
from the tip-top
of the towering
fortress,

the place that the universe bends for,
dances for,
multiplies for.

Once, a painted woman sat upon
the tower,
supreme and hungry,
watching
different casts perform…

her muse!

She was born with a gift.
An Eye!
A Wandering Eye!
At her command, her left eye would jump
out of its socket
on hunt
as the hungry painted woman
wished.

The Eye knew not the exact
silage, but
there were markings,
specifics, that the Eye knew to watch for.

The painted woman waited,
high in the clouds,
imposing on conversation
between wind
and
weather….
waiting.

Soon, her Wandering Eye would
return
with her meal –

soldiers, fighters,
carpenters,
shaman,

each had a purpose.

The painted woman would accept her
prey, swallowing them completely
in to
herself,
writhing them in and out of consumption,
pulling them deep into
digestion, her stomach
aching for more,
more, more!

She touched
and kissed
and drooled on
each of their gifts
using each
as her very own until
she was
spent.

Then, she would take her lust-probing eye and
retire,
leaving nothing of
her pillage behind!!

A snake,
overflowing
with lasciviousness!

One day, the brushed lady
was brought a tender
slice of
musician, with sad,
blue diamonds sparkling so bright
that when she saw her reflection
in them,
her left gift, was
immediately calcified,
a vegetable!
Useless!

She barely noticed!

They stood together at the tip-top
of the towering fortress,
oblivious to
acts,
actors,
and
actresses.

All the muse she needed stood
beside her, with a box of suffering chocolates
and rust roses,

begging
her
for consumption! On his knees he
pleaded for
use!

Baffled by his strange request, she conformed to
habit.

The painted woman accepted her
prey, swallowing him completely
in,
writhing his body in and out of her consumption,
pulling him deep, deeper into
digestion, her stomach
aching for more,
more, more!

She touched his gifts,
gently kissed his gifts
caressed each gift as if it were her own
until
the bewitching young
musician was spent, sleeping inside her body.

This had never happened before.
She knew “withdraw”
not “succumb”.
How dare he retire without her!
Leaving her here,
alone,
on the tip-top of a towering
fortress without
her only friend,

her tool!
She panicked when the script
started
in the world below. Its silence
sounded different
somehow.
Heartsick.

At that moment, the lady,
standing at the tip-top of the towering fortress
flung herself
from the security of the towers’ height,
diving to join
the world below!

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!