stones

stones by michael r. burch i. far below me lies a village with its houses hewn from stone and though Everyman who lives there bravely claims he’s not alone, i can tell him, yes u are! for u cannot touch the stars no matter how u try; nor can u tame the mountain, nor appease the darkening sky. ii. and late at night their flinty fires blazing cannot warm their stony hearts; though each villager “believes” (in what?) the terror-fear departs them only at mid-day for they fear what Others say when their walls have shut them in. iii. and do they sin? who am i to say? most stones are shades of gray; what does it matter, anyway? iv. oh, i think that living is not easy and that dying is not hard ... as the stars above wink, meaningless, so they are; so we all are. v. a legion without sound in dusky darkness drawing down to settle on the town, the Night is like a stone — hard and dark and rolling on, hard and dark and rolling on. Bowery Boys by Michael R. Burch Male bowerbirds have learned that much respect is earned when optical illusions inspire wild delusions. And so they work for hours to line their manly bowers with stones arranged by size to awe and mesmerize. It’d take a great detective to grok the false perspective they use to lure in cuties to smooch and fill with cooties. Like human politicians, they love impressive fictions as they lie in randy causes with props like the Wizard of Oz’s. Geode Love—less than eternal, not quite true— is still the best emotion man can muster. Through folds of peeling rind—rough, scarred, crude-skinned— she shines, all limpid brightness, coolly pale. Crude-skinned though she may seem, still, brilliant-hearted, in her uneven fissures, glistening, glows that pale rose: like a flame, yet strangely brittle; dew-lustrous pearl streaks gaping mossback shell. And yet, despite the raggedness of her luster, as she hints and shimmers, touching those who see, she is not without her uses or her meanings; in all her avid gleamings, Love bestows the rare spark of her beauty to her bearer, till nothing flung to earth seems half so fair. splintering by michael r. burch we have grown too far apart, each heart long numbed by time and pain. we have grown too far apart; the DARK now calls us. why refrain? we have grown too far apart; what spark could reignite our vanished flame or persuade us to remain? Keywords/Tags: stones, stone, village, house, Everyman, mountains, sky, night, stars, emotion, muster, rind