Haven 9-18-26
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Haven
The inferno cast by a sinful moon
Rises in the red breath of winter,
In neon flames and flares.
Faceless
Whimpering
In splinters of bare bone
Howling into grimacing spectrals
Deaf to the labor of compassion
The agony of maples turning scarlet
The sound of birthing stars.
In the debris of green apple afternoons
When tongues of flame
Speak the thesaurus
Of sanctity
Shards of purple glaciers tremble
Chastised
Chastened
By labors of the amber dawns,
As hallowed sweetness
Falls upon the thirsting tongue.
Then, in this arbor, beneath amazing wings,
Joy reclaims crystal blooms of grace.
How can a cloud be made up of paint that doesn’t splatter?
It’s like someone took gross mustard and smeared it to make that hill in the background.
I don’t get how a painting can have a pond like that.
It just looks fish-less, nothing under there.
If I got so mad that I tore this painting in half?
There would be an obvious tear of anger.
Then you savor the energy.
Continue, slosh.
With paint like grated cheese turning liquid.
Everyone knows your paintbrush wasn’t washed enough.
Everyone can hear you grumbling and grimacing that you’re hungry!
The howl of two paintings.
Have you ever let your paintbrush be alive?
I hear canvas holds onto the old grit from your claws.
There’s something called repetitive behavior.
There’s something called listening to a song at night.
Again, and it feels like scooping ice cream so easily.
When I don’t have the strength in real life.
And freezer burn usually hits at the worst time.
When I listen to the same song 20 times…
It becomes a gemstone that is smoothed out.
And it feels like- I’m on stilts and not fumbling this time.
It’s like taking back a speck of “trying to get them to understand.”
No grimacing.
Instead, I place a scented eye mask over my eyes.
It’s more than “Again.”
It’s me moving up in line a little bit more and cheering.
That eye mask is lavender and the song is boldly reminiscent.
There’s something called repetitive behavior.
Lives with me in the folds of my mind.
It’s more than “Again.”
It never felt like “Again.”
Just me standing on higher stilts.
Just for fun this time.
angry antelopes allowing ants access
bashful buzzards behaving beautifully
curious calves cavorting in the corn
definitive ducks digesting division
eager elephants eliciting excitement
frenzied freckled frogs freely frolicking
greasy green grubworms groveling and grimacing
harried hyenas hectically hopping hopefully
ignorant iguanas ignoring the implausible
jubilant jackals jiggling jiffy jewelry
kayaking kangaroos kibitzing in Kenya
liberal llamas liberating little Libya
miniscule musical mollusks making merry
nine nervous newts nibbling newtons
orangutangs orchestrating outdated Ohio
pressurized primates providing privacy
quarrelsome quails quizzing quahogs
resurrected roosters receiving riotous relatives
sassy seasoned sea serpents sallying forth in secret
tantalizing tarantulas tasting tree lined treats
understated urchins undoing underwater ugliness
visible vixens vibrating toward victory
wily wise walruses whistling in water wrecks
‘xtraordinary ‘xotic eagles expecting easy eggs
young Yellowstone yaks yelling their youthful truth
zealous zebras zipping breezily through Zanzibar
Halloween is like a spleen.
Busted up, hurts, and patches.
Then I saw worms splashing around.
The stardust glazed over.
Halloween is a fog-monster.
Just eats stuff like a blast of cool air.
Groaning cauldron.
Enough mess to carry me away.
Halloween gobbles me up like something that spins.
Or has pins and needles that are invisible.
The stardust makes me do it.
And the mush halts me.
Halloween is like a molding miracle.
Halloween hats and grimacing.
Nothing between the grates.
Just me and a sewer somewhere.
Halloween snatches me up like a garbage truck.
Halloween is like organs and mush together.
Halloween is a bone on top of a mountain.
Halloween has a lot to say!
I gave up all of my inhibitions.
Sat in the cauldron with nothing else inside.
Expected something-
Unsettling.
Ghosts
Garbed in ghostly attires
Glistening like a star
Grimacing like an ape
Gurgling like a black owl
Gathered on public square
Gesturing like actors
Giving a fearful show.
The need to write never ends.
Just destroys the dragonfly as it flies away.
Just eats things that are made of crust.
Just tampers with the string that holds your eyeballs in.
The need to write is wonderful.
A nice feeling of swishing.
Like a pond with nothing but algae and weird bubbles.
Making deep popping sounds.
The need to write is soaking through.
Not unlike a fountain’s spray.
On top of a bench that can’t do anything, go anywhere.
There is nothing better than…
The need to write.
The grimacing faces of words.
Which are tactile sometimes.
Tapping against me.
I don’t need to write.
At 4:00 am.
I can ponder and consider wandering into a swamp.
And not write the whole time.
Or I could write a few words.
Which makes me as strong as roadkill.
Gets run over with sentences again.
For fun.
The need to write never ends.
Does it?
heels spin to worn paths,
mask grimacing yesterdays—
eyes not quite so sure
if this swerve of direction
is up down or whatever
sky stares down the gaze
but chin is still uplifted
as rain lashes face—
challenging storm's resurgence
mirror's stance of defiance
cliff gave no warning
of free-fall rocks in full view,
with no hold to siege
in the up-down tailspin crash—
to pucker up start again
chisel gouges bone
features blurred recast remade
as the past erased—
yet the scar itself engraves
phantom in impost's shadow
two mirrors collide
eyes locked in a frozen glare
neither one will yield—
defiance sharper than blades
masks slam together head first
shards spill out from glass
reflections just don't matter
tattered unravelled—
what remains is radiance—
that shines from the self within
Michigan is the best place to wear a sun hat.
As flowers floating around stick to the brim.
A park bench with a big tree provides even more shade.
So we surrender to the coolness.
Michigan is the best place to wear sandals.
To protect your feet from the little stones.
Try to walk barefoot for a while.
And grimacing as the harsh ground laughs.
Michigan is the best place to order ice cream.
Even though the lines are long in the summer.
We set our beach towels aside and line up anyway.
Eating ice cream to the sound of the lakes.
Michigan is the best place to buy a fudge scented candle.
And laugh about all those weird fall smells.
Then reminisce that we didn’t pay attention to summer smells.
We try to remember.
Tool boxes in the garage.
And a shed with mysterious cobwebs.
Things that are weathered.
The most forgotten parts of Michigan.
Michigan is the best place-
To stay for a while.
Begotten to Fail
The strutting hustlers
rouse their slumberous day
amidst their maddened worlds
In the midst
of the wary ghetto
A dream steps out
blinking, yawning with a resolve
even as their sky seems blurry
Repelling men and monsters
Relishing the forecasted rain
Marching through
mud and splatters
riding with the lightning
dancing to the pounding thunder
mastering the guts and dangers
grimy with the heap
of yesterday’s dreams
grimacing the flavour
of lack and resentment
The thing about killing Angels
you have to remember is always go for the kill shot
Most of them can easily take a grenade to the face
Those arch ones usually stay put and watch
Basically on tap with God
Seldomly they will make an appearance
Demons are tricky
Disguise themself basically animal vegetable mineral
One time my electric razor tried to bite a clump from my cheek, huh still makes me smile
He turned towards the boy
His crumple of a face
grimacing
The book boy learn it well
He turned hunched over
Bent and snatched the head from
the prone child at his feet
The sack boy open it
Without the head
We won’t be fed….
The boy pulling a single golden strand from his pocket
the strand warping reality around it
air forming the sack
Please
Just once
Not a three point shot…
Another 3 seconds he chide only infinity to go
At this rate we will be working long after the end
In a space reserved for not thinking
a TV blames itself for telling lies to you.
It's another fake cathartic moment.
A wall clock coughs into its hands,
Mouthing a bullet proof prayer -
I waggle limbs into more natural shapes.
Avoid mirrors for a while
until my face settles.
Stamp petulantly
over a not-welcome mat.
The sun has got itself snagged
in shadowy thickets,
a wind sharpens itself
on my nose
perseverance snaps at my heels.
“Go tell it on the mountain”
I speak this uplifting line
while grimacing through a snarl.
Shouldering an invisible load,
climbing a medium-sized mediocre hill.
It takes a whole metaphorical day
just to climb it halfway.
Pause, take a breath.
Try to remember, try to forget,
Try walking backwards for a while.
Trials come and go now
Somehow smile during my own
Take a bow for now
Opportunities
Curtains close and open here
Possibilities
Positivity
Certainly can be joyous
Freedom’s liberty
Sorry swims in me
You are forgiven, mercy
Merci for mercy!
The posts online.
Telling us to be kind.
I am a year older,
Awareness somehow feels colder.
Every April we are surprised.
By the people who are brave enough to rise.
While others stay on the ground.
Grimacing without a sound.
They get a thrill from buying pins.
But it makes me twinge.
When we exchange pleasantries.
Like we’ve done for centuries.
I always have to say,
How I’m doing ok.
But I feel like a seal with a ball.
The stereotypes, I juggle it all.
My friend texted me today.
Telling me about Autism Awareness Day.
I know she’s kind, I know she tries.
But if I told her, she’d think it’s a lie.
I’m excited to head home, and smile in my car with the radio cheering me on.
The echos of everyone’s smiles as I strut out the office.
I would feel the satisfaction of making the world smile.
But really, that’s a daydream.
But really, the office is silent and frowning.
But really, I’m grimacing, alone in my cubicle.
I’m breathing heavy and tapping my feet loudly.
Shifting and creaking my chair.
Trying to stand to go get a drink of water to calm down.
But worried they will be laughing if I walk away for even a moment.
They will think I’m hiding in the bathroom and crying.
Which I do want to do…
So I’m paralyzed.
He walks over and asks how I’m doing.
I smell his coffee and it’s strong and jolts me awake.
I have my work, it’s right on the computer screen!
But I turn around and it’s just letters and words that I aimlessly tapped in.
My day is ruined.
Daydreaming…
About going home.
I’ll leave late after everyone else has left.
Then I can go home and cry.
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