Space aliens speak a geometric poetry,
crop circles are left,
to enlighten each brain cell.
Soon we may think,
in pictures, patterns, and spirals once more,
employing the mathematics
of immediate insight.
The heart hungers,
brains are secretly rewiring themselves,
into cosmic bridges.
Life begins to express itself,
hieroglyphically.
The aliens have not yet arrived
as us.
we have yet to grow into them,
as all our words
are acknowledged as misspelled symbols,
a primitive speech, too disjoined
for these new times.
So far, a simple pictograph,
of reality,
one any alien could decipher,
remains undiscovered.
Yet we watch and wait,
as revealing holograms,
create new visions for us.
Life has surely broken me.
I’ve flunked out at Everything.
Why consider equally
When Options just desert Me?
Too grimed up, I cannot see
A single reason surfacing,
Hiding Places changing,
Constantly and arbitrarily,
Disappoint inevitably.
It only ends up baffle-ing
That the Ones who stuck by Me
Were No One and Nobody.
The Needed ones Abandoned me,
Never even wanted me.
Been let down by EveryOne
And 100% of Practically
All and and Every Single Thing,
Left for dead and wasting
To a husk of Me.
So what's the point,
Quite pointlessly,
When you will only
Start new things?
Old ones failing,
Interest lost and dropping,
Forcing hands repeatedly.
Home to pack a bag and leave,
All doors slammed resoundingly,
Locks all changed and shut to me.
Happy Endings Abruptly.
Don't care what you do to me.
Lost my sensitivity:
Burning hurts so painfully.
Once Angry scars
Protect My Heart
From all Hope,
Now lost to me.
It doesn’t hurt, just disappoints.
I have no mass, I’ve been disjoined,
Won’t shatter when you drop me.
All do eventually;
A mere eventuality,
Forgone Conclusively.
Slush coated figures
have been drawn on the sidewalk,
dribble people, their disjoined limbs
twisted into guesses to be pecked over
by hammer driven beaks.
After the hard-packed snow
acrobats were doodled flying slipshod
below a trapezing wind.
If the frigid sky were a wall
its graffiti would spray can itself.
Here on the pavement the 20 questions
party game is in full swing.
Prompted by the ice art, we ask:
“Is it a place?”
“Is It an object?”
“Is it real or fictional?”
The answer to all these questions
is “YES.”
Meanwhile the swirling unfurling of meaning
still has legs
until feral pigeon wings sweep
even those last appendages away.
What is left
once meant a fleeting abstract something
but that was before
the concrete forgot how to read itself,
and the sky grew too puzzled
to play anymore.
Disunited,
disjoined,
separated... !
Is the love of love over?
Saturated love with so much love?
What happened...?
I just conceive that a heavy body
with the weight of the joyful past leaves...
A broken future carries
the present with heavier burden
than lead....
What bitterness my God... !
Circler and sharp
Around and jagged
Disjoined in thought
Unfocused in point
Spinning out of control
Broken filaments of twine
Laced locked in gears
It is near the end of time
Nails of glass in iron stone
Refracts the light
Broken; flying fragments of night.
Cycles down into a spin
Over and over again
Out of control
A creation of gears in glass
An old broken compass
Nails nine inches long
Nine in all
Wire and springs
Metallic things
A fractured rage
Ice sickled sharp
Cuts neat and clean
Around and jagged
Disjointed thought
Unfocused image
Out of control
Over and over again
Raged the fragments of time
When
Will we accept our idealist indirection?
Deviated by selfish deviance;
byproducts of our own deceits.
Hope
Remains in anonyms who grasp moralizing concepts.
Courage must manifest promised tangibility.
Despair
Cripples forces of hope;
Sprinkling dreary forecasts, only to be left in doubt.
Questionable answers are found, such as...
Why do we be what we are?
1-16-2012
Once, side by side, they walked the moonlit beach
in silence- each alone and incomplete
in disjoined worlds- linked only by the reach
of tiny, lapping waves upon their feet.
As silver beams of moonlight iced the ground
and blotted out the heat of sandy gold,
their warmth of humanness was hidden- bound
beneath blind souls that shivered in the cold.
Yet, on the sand, their shadows danced along-
a silhouetted couple synchronized
in motion- forms united clear and strong
against the blankness which the moon devised.
Dark shadow puppets sparked romantic light-
gave living souls new vision in their night.
December 18, 2014
Shadow Puppets
~8th Place~
Premiere Contest: Silhouette
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Judged: 09/16/2017
Shadow Puppets
~7th Place~
Premiere Contest: Mid-June
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 06/15/2017
He's gone!
His paintbrush
no longer skims my canvas
perhaps he became bored of staining skin
and chose to sculpt himself
a heart instead
one that limns
lifeless things
He always said,
we're better off disjoined,
both being artistic lovers
who tire
over the slightest
familiarity of tongue
this time,
it just happens to be mine
still roused
bleeding
over the sharp edge
of his brush