Eight
hundred
indie
fringe godfath-
ers stole thunder from
forty frayed dandies who thought they
were today's trendy
answer to
tonight's tiny fright-
ened finger
toads but in fact were
only dreadnought friends
of the hidden thrifty fudge in-
ferred from a rougher runty third
of the grounded ruddy roundheads
remaining defi-
ant 'til notified not to
be
and
to return to fraught infight-
ing at their always
well funded freehand orgies.
-
When I was born
the light was in other people’s eyes.
warm hands coddled
spills of milky mew-shaped thirsts
dabbed at my whiteboard mind.
I began to wink the world into shapes;
as a new Loosely fleshed presence
I turned listless in the blood-warm bud.
Early things showed up to crowd my eyes,
back-lit beings leaned over a bar of sound,
spoke in warm froth.
Nameless images came and went
red and yellow plastic spheres and beakers
some had mouths to sooth raw and runty wonders,
all as incomprehensible as a wet nose.
Then that light-box of undeveloped things
fell apart only to come together;
I saw the garb of perception
arise from a fitting room floor.
A wind-tossed leaf entered my empty stage
green was no longer a shadow crossing
a white faceless backdrop.
There I was,
an early thing, gathering yeast
for an as yet un-kneaded brain
watching and sorting visions of returning caregivers,
and the nameless similitudes
that sometimes cooed, or that passed-by me
latter to be horded, made to be
countable.
Cry ‘en out
runty Court, corny core
country coon unroot.
Ornery, yet not
your crony too.
Uncute nut
one rut —or
cooter coroner.
Neo coy
Cure concert tune crooner.
Once retro eye toy,
no contour nor couture.
Enter unto none
true outer nurture.
Run or not—
yet outrun no one.
August 8, 2019
Anagrammatic Poem
Howe great are your lofty peaks, amongst hillocks traced
Free from foes and frauds , ink my ridges with love and freehand
Ones tail whips round between valleys deep, creating a landscape, a mighty sweep
Lancers move forward and runty stays close, for those wagers upon us will judge us the most
Ego and IDs freeze at first glance , six nations armies forlorn and entranced
Exit the summit, bring down the gate for thine has the power to command check mate.
Not yet long into the night, a translucent mist hovers,
cold as it settles upon the fine hairs.
Runty knobs form along the exposed skin,
an insufferable chill has come to the Quarter.
Secured dwellings sheltering those from who prey in the dark,
prowling the vulnerable, pilfering life from the innocent.
Gas streetlights lay witness to this harrowing theater,
stretching shadows, slithering the alleys for a pristine morsel.
Moist from a recent offering, hunger demands fruition,
devouring the still beating heart prolongs one's existence.
Gnawing at the bone, consuming of the flesh,
ensuring nourishment 'til the next illuminating full Luna.
Before the dawn reveals this carnage of the night,
a solitary horse drawn cart wanders the curbs,
collecting the discarded remains of those ravaged,
harboring the rumors only locals know to be true.
Awaiting the ensuring engorged orb,
I endure, I thirst, I hunger.
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