Yes, I am. But, my eyes are special.
See, my eyes see through you, walls, time and space.
That’s the way they are: brown, but powerful.
And if I see you, you can’t escape!!
-------
vol 6, Multiples
Rumple Stein lit a single
flickering candle, casting
long, spooky shadows across
the cold stone walls.
"High upon the jagged cliffs
stands the forgotten castle of
Blackwood," he told the
shivering children.
"Inside its drafty halls roams
Grimtooth, an evil ghoul with
glowing green eyes and
razor- sharp claws."
The wind roared outside,
rattling the windows as if
Grimtooth himself were
trying to break inside.
He glides through the castle
dungeons, searching for
intruders who dare to touch
his cursed silver."
Suddenly, a low, scraping
sound echoed from the
fireplace, making the children
jump in terror.
"If he catches you, Rumple
Stein whispered, leaning
close, "he freezes you into a
solid stone statue!"
He mimicked a frozen face,
his arms locked stiffly in the
air, making the kids gasp
loudly.
"Only the bravest souls can
outsmart his traps and
escape the castle before the
morning sun."
With a sudden POOF, Rumple
Stein blew out the candle and
laughed, "Sleep tight, little statues!"
As I slip into the void,
of this endless black;
a moonless sea séance;
there's no way back,
for black is black,
flack is flack!
The blues I stack,
into my backpack.
Are old bent music notes
of bottleneck-drawn cries.
Sung in well-past midnight bars
lamenting what I've misspent
in twelve-bar lag dues.
The sea and sky know why,
I'm not coming back.
They never knew me.
They just sailed right through me.
Like a freight train moaning
on a tear-stained track—
sending me flying away, flying away.
Why? Can't I say?
Why? They washed we away!
There's no anchor here
to belay my stay,
to make me rue the day.
So I can't delay
for another day, no no longer!
So I slip my bottleneck slide
down the frets,
screaming a high-note cry;
squealing to a high-end bend,
into the empty void,
of my black-hole blues.
Black is black, flack is flack,
There's no coming back
from these old black-eyed,
black-hole blues.
No coming back
from these old black-eyed,
black-hole blues.
my greens want to sleep
a screaming internal clock
i resume slumber
In a valley where gravity
drinks only upside-down,
She wakes, spinning thread
from fractured glass,
Kindling pale fires
that refuse to burn,
Her heart was a metronome
ticking in a vacuum.
She speaks in violet vowels,
Building bridges out of
forgotten whispers,
Holding the sun
inside a jar of moths,
Where nothing is
permitted to die.
He arrives on a wind
that tastes of iron,
A void dressed in velvet,
Swallowing the light
she mightily stitches,
His heart was a hollow flute
recreating in quietness.
He breathes out velvet nights,
Breaking bridges
with a touch of nostalgia,
Stalking the shadows
of her bright moths,
Where everything
is allowed to rot.
They meet at the intersection
of Nowhere and Ever,
She weaves him a coat
of crystal tears,
He dissolves it
into a cloak of ash.
She offers a rose,
blooming backward into dust,
He drinks the rot,
singing a lullaby of screaming,
Two opposites locked
in a dream that bleeds,
Never merging, never leaving,
One holding the flame,
the other the dark,
Binding the shattered
world together,
In a dark, loving, terrible art.
Tiny, my precious one-eyed ball of fluff --
with oh so sharp teeth and claws --
is disarmingly warm and cuddly but
often still quite skittish,
and stand-offish.
She purrs non-stop, contented,
when safely protected, on my lap
while being stroked. Her food and her water
bowls are clean and full
and her litter box is mostly promptly
emptied, refilled, odorless
and sanitized.
So what if she nips playfully
at my aged paper-thin skin?
Also she may snag my dressy
seldom-donned attire with those
sharp claws. But
she over-pays her board, her daily care,
with fond head nudges, and with her
unabashed preference for me
above all others, even now,
when I may no longer be,
to others, what I was.
To her, still, this outer shell
is precious, is safe,
Is reciprocated love,
is home,
is everything.
No lazy eyed outlook
When this morn-stilled!
Points as what's on display: "there, look;
Old barrow, cart".
Can it be so excused
When this noon-stirred?
Points as what's just for show: "there, look;
Old cat; porched art".
wolf eyed Charley
ideas gnarly
warped and wild
obstinate child
some say a bad seed
puts new teacher off feed
a blue eyed beauty
confident in his striping
not so cuddly
go back to
sleep.
The World
is
worse for
wear,
without
us
worrying
about it.
Crisp apple,
ripen
later.
I’m ordering a pack of seeds
For planting near my house.
Some flowers near a home is
An idea that I espouse.
If I plant black-eyed Susans
And, with luck, they really sprout,
I’ll surely smile each time
I’m coming home or going out.
Their color pops with happiness
And with their middle dot,
Or so-called “eye,” they paint a picture
I like quite a lot.
My thumb’s the opposite of green
So I won’t be surprised
If the seeds I plant don’t give me
Blooms the packets advertised.
Still, it’s not a big investment
To procure and plant some seeds,
For a dash or rain and sun and hope
Is all somebody needs.
You're on top, so, you think you've got 'em,
But, you don't understand, boxing's pugilistic ways.
Then, you're dropped, you hit rock-bottom,
They say, Hey Punchy, who carries your luggage these days?
You won, cuz, you knew you were, "The One,"
Now, you've got scars, broken bones that...never really healed.
With no more, "Glory Days," in the sun,
It's December, can't remember, your fate is ever sealed!
The 49er arrives with the virgin sunrise.
But the golden veins have long ago dried.
Pickaxe in hand, dynamite in his good eye.
He's the only one left of the calloused kind.
Back in spring, Blackjack the burro broke free.
Bolting for the last watering hole
Licking the salt from his reins.
Deeper and deeper the miner burrows in.
It's all about double blind commitment now.
The poison of pride over the succulence of time-
Willowy faith over the slag of good reason-
The gristle of isolation over nectar of companionship.
At the very edge of the dimming lamp light.
The black snake has all but tapped the vein dry.
A dusty angel sips the last of the moonshine.
The 49er rolls two stones over two black holes
that once were hazel stars on the rise.
I thought I had finally found my bride
Gorgeous figure, long blonde hair and blue-eyed
Her looks, mesmerizing
Her voice, tantalizing
Swore she sewed, cleaned and cooked ~ pity she’d lied
Blue-eyed baby.
Eyes as blue as the ocean.
Hair as blonde as the sand at the shore.
Blue-eyed baby, how you’ve changed my world.
Blue-eyed boy, how you’ve grown.
How I love you more than all the shells in the sea.
Shine, my beautiful blue-eyed boy, may you brighten the day of everyone you meet as you have brightened my whole world.
My blue-eyed boy.
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