A crystal-pin prick at the beginning.
A monumental vagueness at the end.
The art of carving peace seems quite lost again.
In between granite slabs-a tangle of black tragedies.
Tiny clusters of downy light upon a peaceful being.
The selfishness of flesh drifting atop the brine.
In an endless maze of the triggered mind.
Where blue devils tap dance so raggedly upon God time.
the sky high above
is murky, and restless.
storm clouds hang so low,
it’s like i could touch them.
i reach out to touch them,
but my hand ends up on your cheek.
i can feel the rivers running
in your eyes and in your mind,
heart raggedly picking up pace.
i can feel it in your chest,
skin on skin—i want to touch it.
i reach out and run my hand through the clouds.
Deposited, held in Amazon's Adonis arms
Hidden inhospitably stashed, kite shadow
Curled furtive, stairway stupefied windshield
Hallucinations lag languished in amusement
Monkeys freeze, screech scamper scratch
Egg smooth roof unscathed cubby abode
Jagged gaps hang fur curtain climbing mates
Swung carefree in cramped homecamp humid
Aghast lopped log rest exhales raggedly
Snapped propeller askew salutes defeat
Wing bent lungs transform fortitude into fuel
Crushed accordion bodied anaconda swivels
Lock jaw latch tight to jungle gym frame
Liquid flow flanks scale, giant slug glued
Fork tongue tastes rain drip following day hope
Fangs prong Coconas sour tomato gold codicil
Cluster juice burst berries, bittersweet bulbs
Knobs of Contreu twisted tangerine vitamin
Fibre feeds faith indispensible, thin torsos entwined
Fight against forbode of abandonment, exhausted
Anonymous Minor Survivors
Middle of Jungle June
THE BOY STARES AT YOU
He is raggedly scrunched up
Against a wall of sweating bricks,
Staring at you with as much pride
As life has thrown at him.
You see he has no desire to make
Conversation with a stranger
To his stale, rank impoverishment
But he smiles anyway with false bravado.
His eyes question your unwanted presence,
Loitering for a possible answer
Which may be forthcoming
And include conditional expectations.
He won't break his kingdom of silence,
Where he reigns supreme
Among poverty's sprawling plague.
He waits for you to speak but knows
You have nothing to say he'll understand
Nor care about. Besides your speech is
Foreign to him, so you can stutter on
Without the slightest effect.
The vultures circle above, letting out
Their dolorous cries in search of the dead.
He and you live but do not engage
Because you cannot relate;
You do not exist to each other.
Among the scattered stones of the houses,
You have found a hidden graveyard
Of dreams where there is no afterlife.
Standing raggedly
on your threshold, yet you showed
no mercy on me.
I am from a place where the sun shines
Full of many many traffic signs.
I am from a place where we play baseball
WHACK
And umpires make calls.
I am from a place where there is an Arch
And where the cheese is full of starch.
I am from a place where runners run raggedly
Rather than jaggedly.
We are home to the ice cream cone, hot dog, and iced tea.
But are not near the sea.
I am from a place that has many teams.
Where two rivers flow as a stream.
Our colors range from red, to white, to blue
Because there’s nothing better than living in the Lou.
A pencil world, there are marks everywhere
I’m formed by some pencil streaks on paper
She lives on this paper, a grand image
Standing on some raggedly made passage
Lines to form the walls and shadows abound
I see myself in strange footage around
Seeing everything in only line form
Crafts mastery in circular reform
I can sense she’ll approach with her strange arms
And aligned with pieces of pencil charms
This page envelopes me, confines me more
My brain still functions, not sure what I’m for
My world is a bunch of stray pencil marks
Drawn onto a paper as some remarks
Russell Sivey
DR. PANGLOSS?
Cooler today dear friends
No wind
Humidity 86
Temperature expected in the mid-80s
The leaf crowd hangs
motionless silent
Even the birds sense the lull
One hears an occasional chirp
In these lulls though these periods of inactivity
The mind is able to focus
A good mind will offer thanks not dreading change
A troubled mind it seems is forever looking forward
And backed by a roiling sea of past and present events
only temporarily stilled will invent things that may
never happen places and people with dirty faces
raggedly clothed
A good rational mind will not invent
But see the day for what it is
Will live in the moment
Giving thanks for a beautiful world
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