Retrospection pains us.

Those old posts… oof. Yet, I still stand by (most of) the poems. New content unlikely but possible.

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Pretty Little Pictures

A Mansion in Madder

Sun-kissed amber, golden shores, what could be more
inviting..? Ah. But in actuality, the shores face cliffs
and the amber is a lighthouse, derelict of purpose
if not… build. The sheds too (two sheds… madison…)
suffer an ambrosia coat so even-brushed it ceases wonder
too picturesque, too snappy, too composed.
A ship ought pass me by, if there it’s going; I’ll have no part
of part-less layered waves, nor golden drops off sheer
sheer foolishness. Let parishioners perish.

 
 

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modern boating

direction-Portable, Potable

it’s High Tide
has been
sayeth the sign
The battery remains equally intransigent

  
 

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Modern cultism

At least it’s not Cross-Fit

We understand
it’s all quite clear,
opacity remains with YOU
unheeding, yes, unwilling ear
refusing all but simple
and I wonder: do the clouds inhabit you,
take form, expand throughout your neural nodes
and rearrange all hazily? Perhaps
the answer lies
somewhere
recalcitrant to nonbelievers,
of smoke and fluid yes,

you vape.

 
 

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Each generation more firm

He, at last rites

Will,
by now you’ll have heard
that it’s your inheritance,
birthright strange as it sounds
but no less, nor any more
for now
until you shape, mold to your own spirit
and aim sharp
dark now yet growing light.

 
 

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Never? Where?

Chipper monks

Walking past, talking past each other
walking
talking over the everyday when
look!
that wasn’t there
any of the yesterdays I can remember,
let’s go explore!

 

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Batter u- nevermind

Pitch

A throw
straight
long
fair
sudden
explosive white
feathers
tumbling
regret
reputation blackened

 
 

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I’m singing… away from the rain

Recipe for sad day

Cold hues
rainy days
jazz… hasn’t been invented yet
but booze! is a true blue pal
and some say—this is where I wink—
tequila’s the bluest of blues:
takes the salt from your wounds
tells your lemons what for
makes the tragedy float swimmingly
away~~ memory
fading, was it always orange?

 

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topical so long as capitalism

Neighbor can you spare some grass?

Neighbor can you spare some grass?
The park’s bein’ flipped
upturned
Industrial to City Hall
they only want the kind of green you can’t walk
without clubbing (and being) one of the boys

Neighbor can you spare some grass?

 

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Easily Preventable

Muddy waters

Life-giver, breath-taker
intimately pushing away with your kiss
a flurry in midsummer’s night falls gentle,
soft and wet upon my sides, all sides
equal in caress and yet, why drifting apart in simultaneity
unless, O, we are not pure, no longer
innocent in romps and salad days,
but dark and sifting light as though it matters
our little action, a sieve to filter the ocean
really a blanket to shelter us, a guide
of color born to point away from death although
the horizon has long ceased
its pretense of slimness, now the true blanket manifest
enveloping ourselves—within each other—
flow now all to one, one singular, one singularity, one
point of many points eroding and replacing, infinitely with itself
again
again
and over
over you, arms no longer twined but stitched apart and as we are a (w)hole
I must needs follow: ‘til life do us part.

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Ghoulish colour

Element of Style

Single shade
beneath a palm tree, madder sand,
but calm and long past raging, longing passed
as but another storm
now there
now here
now over the horizon, giving way over
to dawn, a new statistic a new record scratch
into the palm. Thirteen salad days.
True, the shirt is madder yet, the slacks, yet
resignation has grown rather tight
if not around the waist then at least
around the island, no one to critique.
Perhaps a different shade to find alleviates
the pain, yet none other can I wear or see:
guess they were quite right to maroon me.

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