East Side Blues

The black sap bleed slow,

Casting a mask over the sea.

Men scramble to Intervene,

The darkness keeps creeping,

Blossoming from that ventrical.

Watch it float, and seep to shore

Have we cut too deep? Would

a tourniquet cease the flow?

Have we cut too deep? It pours

like a spring, moving east,

Ghostly whole, Complete

Disaster, Well deserved, in deed.

Note on The Colony, TX

Dead Flowers sit, brittle and Idle,

with buds that never blossomed

bending stems that never bridled

the powerful hydration from roots

unseen, stationary in the soil,

prolly coiled up with competition

made to spoil,

in its selfish repetition of survival,

cause that brown, brittle, deceased

lay next to lively leaves

that must have meddled up the water,

blooming canteloupe petals and lavender lashes,

All clashing in the sunlight that established such life.

Notes in Lawrence, Kansas

An alley shaded,

cool vibrations

celebrating today,

gracing the drone and hum

with creation and music,

shelter from the storming sun.

This alley is a path between points

connecting two veins,

collaborating spaces,

making them one.

__________________

A black tongue from the joe,

Black lungs from the smoke,

71 in the shade that's blacker than the day,

The sun in this city lifts me,

these trees inspire.

I breathe easily in lieu of those lights

on big buildings, monoliths and gravities

ever stretching me thin, exhausting smog

roasting my skin, the sun in that city harassed me.

A black tongue and black lungs back home

is a taste of escape from the machine.

Here, i'm not suffocating,

welcomed by open skies,

hopeful people living

To live,

Not waiting to die

Stick this needle in my mother and bleed her slow...

Ammonia, The sweet violent

Aroma that makes me cringe...

Beach Umbrellas, Boats,

Cameras, and Curtains

Dolls and Dyes, Fun for the eyes,

Expunge each drop of purpose further

Down the drain for relocation,

Elsewhere, Out of sight,

So it will no longer be a problem. :)

Artificial Turf,

Candles, Crayons,

Credit Cards,

Waxy oil made to burn,

Ballpoint Pens and Rubber Cement.

Electrical Wiring Insulation,

Faucet Washers, Detergents,

Car Battery Cases, Auto Parts,

Carpets, Dice, and Disposable Diapers,

Deodorants, caulk,

Rubbing alcohol.

Fishing Rods, Fishing Lines, Fishing Lures,

For recreation, skim off into clean waters

Leaving traces of their altered states behind.

Food Preservatives and packaging

Ravage conservation, to the point

that I am asking of its origins, extinction.

Every house on every path,

hath held such disposables with reason,

Multiplied, Multiplied, Multiplies

Every season, every region exponential,

wasting the potential.

Cosmetics,

for the reflection fanatics,

Hair Color for the strange,

Hair Curlers for the straight,

Lip Stick colors faint tips, while

Polish follows suit on nails,

Perfume ruminates on sweetly,

Hosiery makes skin even neatly,

All to cover such vains as those

that show beneathe thin skins

and Poses.

Hand Lotion, yes,

It smooths your touch,

Shampoo Chemically bathes

Your hair. Dead Fiber gets the

Pharoah treatment, as is such

Our habits, we dare.

Toothpaste Whitens,

Signs of Purity are useful,

Petroleum Jelly shines em

Like pearls, Blindingly bright,

A helluva sight, if your smiling at me.

Hearing Aids and Heart Valves,

Artificial limbs,

Anesthetics, Antiseptics,

Bandages and aspirin.

Insecticides and eye glasses,

All provide the comforts from austerity,

Indeed, Treating symptoms of the ever

Present, Never Future-thinking Being.

A Cortisone is what we need- Oh No!

We're still picking from that tree!

Linoleum is made to soothe.

Milk Jugs, Trash Bags,

Garden Hose and Glue,

Upholstery, Water Pipes,

Shaving Cream and Shoes,

All make one, the home, and run

Along with you each day.

You're carrying that weight

And just throwing it away.

Aye! (For the Hailstorms of N. Texas Spring 2011)

Amethyst coins hail onto the tinny metal
Percussions annointing tales of stormy weather
Persistent deployment sealing suspicions
'bout alterations and
a single degree...
The tipping point; Inertia's inevitability.
Is this rain, or is this water, is it wine
From the heavens?
Or Devils, imprisoned by their nature?
Are we skipping ahead, or are we
Too far behind?
Falling
to freeze,
Falling
to
fi
re
Or shall we become a triumph
over Adversity's breadth...
Aye, I believe these to be
Amethyst Harbingers of the next test.

Falling Into Halloween

On the last day of summer, our celestial spectacle rose behind me
Lighting this city in ways no Prose can describe. (But I’ll try J)
As if Night were crawling away, scattering like six-legged roaches
Vying for the shade, as the Sun - to sky approaches and the remnants
Of darkness disappeared just like indignant ghosts;

This sight inspired into me a Dialect, a correspondence
Rending and refining thoughts about my future options
In the doctrine of eclectic superstition and the images
Adopted, donned, displayed and flaunted, as tradition,
In the Haunting. On that Daunting eve, when all is hallowed,

How then will I be?
Oh, What, indeed, shall I be, this Halloween?

Until this moment, the awesomeness of costuming was lost on me,
Every year it passed, without me grasping all the possibilities,
Everlasting in its brevity-
A single night, when all is well to present yourself as someone else-
As a lie to tell both stranger and ally, without a danger of deceit,

No,
To lie to thee upon this eve bears no burden unto me,
As I simply assimilate the currents of the mainstream,
Caking all this make-up shall be all the more entertaining,
For this year anon, I aim to become the master of this platform
By my empowering proclivity as creativity manifests into a being,

Oh What Shall I be this Halloween?

Anything I might conceive, may be portrayed upon the Eve,
A character of fantasy, folklore, or mythology,
Real-world personality, historical or presently relevant,
Whether it’s an intelligent delegate or one of television’s replicates,
Generic, specific, my option is limitless.

Oh,
How can I decide a singular depiction?!
I can symbolize a concept, even,
Represent, without restriction
Any mixture of these figures. . .

Oh, What shall I be, this Halloween?

A certainty is what I need, and thus, must know
What canvas I have grown to be the backdrop
That my thoughts may paint upon, to manipulate
Into new faces, Splicing from my normal sight,
Embracing my antithesis, that I Exist On The Other Side.

Three Keys:
First,
to identify, that which I appear, Like in the eyes of my peers,
Here’s the form: Tall, Dark, and Handsome, a mixed breed,
To be candid, My gene pool is composed of Quakers and
Hispanics, and as my Night of Disguise is not taken for granted-

Second-
I will step outside costumes
With these parameters,

So no Lady Player Like John Mayer,
Nor Undead Slayer via Brandon Lee,
No scissor-handed /Pirate/Writer/Wonka/Dead-
Man/Sweeney Todd, either. Jonny Depp
Gets much respect from me, but on this eve
I must reject such characters; so it goes
Too for Orlando Bloom and Christopher Reeve,
Pre-paraplegic, sometimes an elder tells me
My face reminds them of Elvis Presley, How tragic,

No Heart Attack for me,
No sequins,
Nor the ears of the Elven
No strength of an alien,
No body is a wonderland
No eyeballs will be eaten. . .

Third, I must decide my desires, So I may be so incisive to devise such a disguise that guides me;
Do I wish to inspire, by means of the Abstract, Personified concepts, such as for profilactics,
I could scare them all with an enactment of perpetual childbirth, Or maybe something less distracting,
Do I wish to be the center of festivities, in such a spot I must be charming, alas My heart’s alarms dissent.
Maybe I will simply choose to threaten harm and get my kicks from the startled screams of mindless peeps Walking down the back alley’s on Halloween. . . Oh I say, naivete, doth provide me much my entertainment,
But maybe on this night-to-day, I simply wish to get laid. Oh ho! Now there’s some trickery, a fickle trickling
Of data, made available at just the right pace, wearing faces calculated to invigorate a chase, How my mind races just to sort out all the phases, Oh Halloween Please do not see me trying to simplify something so complicated,
As a Human Being, compromising the elements of my disguise, comprised without intending deceit, I inquire still,

Oh, What shall I be this Halloween?

Person, place, or thing?
Man, Myth, Celebrity,
Location’s Real or Fantasy?
A concept? An Object?
That Makes sense?
I can even include a Contradiction?

How I’m vexed by this hex of perfectionism-
That’s it!
I know what’s needed for this season to be seen, heard,
An occupational Hybrid is what reason infers,
A play on words,
That escapes most mindsets,
An authoritative testimony to this sly,
Divining, intellect. This guy: disguised in
Many ways on many levels, displayed with all
Those angels and devils. . . Well I say, I may just go
As a Cop..out…Myself!

The New Grotesque

There’s a new grotesque in the westwork of the church, at the apex of a spire, it lurks.
Countenance contorted, gnarled to a smile, snarling as its fingers writhe about some prize
That it found, or was rewarded, now it’s bound by its chimeric form of the Goblin-Wolf;
Erlking and courtaud entwine and result engulfed into the squadron of daemons
Perched above the people, leering from their steeples rousing fears that steer
Them into the cathedral of the Golden Throne. . . Its pose, Onerous, before, though,
it was ownerless, and unknown; free to roam and express, Now set in stone, tis mere grotesque.

The Folky Goblin Lucifer climbed to the crest by way of Hunky-Punk vernacular,
Inactive, now, he rests. Iconic and Ornamental, tis a chronic reference to all illiterates
By Zealots, eliciting a belligerent imbalance as the image is in sponsorship of an
Executive Dictatorship that gravitates around a golden throne- STOP

Spotlight the throne- Watch it. Glistening, So enchanting, granting one’s wish
To stand atop Man, like the stance of this grotesque, in vain, Hollowed is the game.
By name, Segato’s petrifaction claimed this man to supplement the active rapture
of this population pining for that Aurum base part: AU. Get Smart:

This grotesque is nothing royal, no Niobe nor Gargoyle, Just a ploy above the soil
Carved by Men akin to stone, who shaped his soulless skin to stretch over
The coldest of bones, the Kobold has now been molded, Frozen, in a state of shock,
The walking paradox ensnared in rock, set upon the eaves for eternity to feed
The innocent his fantasy to be on top, and so they see, so they believe, and
I can’t find a way to stop it so I Leave.