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.

Untied Kingdom

The time is upon us, Orwell's immaculate conception was the harbinger of prophecy,

When the men over machines and the machine of men meet

To speak of the Terms and agreements needed, Heeding swift and speedy

Ways to communicate, cooperate, syndicate their function for the people

For the people.

For their safety against evil and temptation,

Anarchy, and Rage.

Society suffers. Soon under duress when the jurisdictions of the law

And Right And Wrong

Begin to blend and Mesh

Then Fade,

Which opens up the flood gates

of the dazed and crazy, craving reparations in a feral frenzied presentation of contempt.

Violence and Theft, Arson, Assault, Vandalism, The Inciting of riots and unrest;

Aggravated and encouraged by a youthful insecurity,

The People put under the pressure of a popped pistol

Fought the punishments of placement, Crested in

The Bloody colors running through the gutters

of the streets.

Police took to the beat and shook heat into an Enemy,

The J-O-B Became a way of life, and in those trials for

survival, sometimes mistakes are made. Innocent People Die.

And

Days of destruction and Decay go by

Now the high Society is investigating ways to integrate

Authority into the free Form media that commoner's have populated

Without incarceration fears.

The Future is Fermenting, the time is now,

Right Here.

Say" hello" to Big Brother, Britain,

Say it, but don't think it, dears.

The King Is No More

The King of Cleveland sold his crown and throne to begin anew as mercenary in the East.

Searching for that Holy Grail, the golden glory bestowed to the elite, the King of Cleveland

Thought that time could be cheated and all the design assigned to his reign disintegrated.

Impatience and pride feigned passion and power, the castle once made of marble,

Overnight turned to sand, and when his cowardice eclipsed his drive, he fled towards

The coast. A villain, now, in the eyes of his people, for Cleveland lose more than a son,

The lost a king, They lost a face, they became victims cast aside in a money chase.

To abandon the people for whom he fought so faithful, The King of Cleveland sold his soul,

Turned on a dime, and crossed over to the other side, where glamor enamors the flimsy foundation

Of the numbers game and a paper-thin fame so whimsical, we’ll call it wind,

Travelling over lands, currents, and streams, twas' swept from his feet, Banished to the Deep Sea,

Sucked into the undertow. The king is no More.

He walked onto the Miami shore having been reformed

To wear a richer man’s Flame, Making Adversary and Friend one and the same.

He left his kingdom, but kept his Name, and now his people Hate him;

Abhor his Cavalier exterior towards the City he left in shambles

As if his market value means nothing and Money ain’t no thang,

Well Money’s still a four-quarter game Mr. James, and every digit

Scored from the prostitution of your image, through replicates and figurines,

Goes straight into the purse you stripped from Cleveland’s fingers.

I see how you revel to be the villain, but your only villain to yourself,

And that is the mark of a cursed man, Not a king.