010: Perfect day

Sunshine and sand and the waves' murmur,

the warm light spelled the doom of all winters.

Liquid gold, reclining in the breeze

defined swaying contours in my eyes.

Lying still,

we were treading in the footsteps of angels

and you whispered the rhyme of a secret stairway,

but I could not decypher the words.

Weightless colossi above bore witness to the moth,

dancing on a silent tune.

On that day, the sapling could hold root no more,

but time washed and withered the consequences

'til there was just sunshine and sand and the waves' murmur.

[written sometime around January '09]

009: Sound the trumpets, now and forever

Prodromal cloud crash annunciation of immaterial dead weight plunge

is the name of the game the last two deathmatch hunters play at dawn,

while the pink arc-light rainbow seeps in, unnoticed until it's too late.

I wonder, do you think of me when I'm transfixed in the dark,

dissociated in motionless levitation, dreaming of personal teleportation devices?

I assigned letter sequences deceptively void to haunting cyclone eyes;

haste the polaroids, before the armies of gray march in.

Caress these reflected features with your butterfly wings,

render the rest useless, as obvious to all but the wandering mind.

Whose house harbors some pirate's map to utopia,

whose compass points to the photonic womb?

They stretch for miles indeed, a survey of these silent battlefields reveals.

But your lips are petals of the universe, folds of time nailed still,

our silvery delirium mist bell will shatter the concrete walls of Jericho.