Monday, May 31, 2010

032: Midnight sun

A day of more, a song of meeker noise
that gently weaves upon my inner ear,
a whisper bailed to slip in deeper poise.

Against the strain, to falter skulking ploys
and bring down towers of encroaching fear,
a day of more, a song of meeker noise.

By tender touch, affable vaster joys
and bosky groves so still - and drawing near,
a whisper bailed to slip in deeper poise.

That day I'll pass the plays of girls and boys,
pursuing inklings far from savage drear,
a day of more, a song of meeker noise.

The blasting gale that graven stone destroys
will never rake this image I hold dear,
a whisper bailed to slip in deeper poise.

Redemptive notes from trumps of dream envoys
in velvet dawn will find my vision clear,
a day of more, a song of meeker noise,
a whisper bailed to slip in deeper poise.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

031: Perched on the sill

In a slow scuttling breach,
mild leer of shimmer peak,
toast to the health,
as dragons clash,
and obfuscate face in silver shards.
Lance a rope ladder
to the tempest rush,
broken bottle neck dibs
a bronze coin flip.
Dam sour streams in my pulsing bulk,
in his drain I've slaked
far too long.
Screwed driver, asleep
on the wheel, stern against
tender innards.
I've ground and gritted to karst
on muck road miles
on the science of fiber in action
to botch revolutions,
springs spun sinister,
undone metabolic.
I've mustered mobs and armies,
filling nil with clamour from their mouths in rot
and parting brakes to gauge
whether the sun will fuse
feathers of lead.
Read canine spill scribbled on pages
of diaries oiled sky crimson, to expand function,
outstep logic
and razor rust dull;
and who would align to seek debris of me
in the resplendence
left over when the grime is purged?

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

030: Stand at the crossing

and bleed
in the unknown.
Red line focus,
twist the neck
and plant
colors of war
on a wave battered shoal.
Power vertex structure
of maternal ground
I raise
as my jade lifemask.
In weakness,
so strong.

While the scattering
runs on
all around,
chasing the light
across cold void,
I'll wallow in
the black unseen.
His aeon fingers secure
my speck of sand
as whole
as can be,
in the mind of a man,
in the heart of a child,
in the eye of a mouse,
roaming the field.

Demons deny,
turning face,
turning back.
The granite star
is a mouth ever-hungry
to replenish desire.
Don't stop.
Don't break.
All I possess,
reduction to unreason,
wish to mire
rotating arms.
Field mice dream
of being children.
Children dream
of being men.
Men dream
of sleep.

[last 2 lines adapted & expanded from somebody's Y! messenger status message]

Monday, May 10, 2010

029: Levers & cogs

Drink away the night hours
in fume fried brick bowels
and sing to mend an aching back
and a staggering dream path,
with the drained withstanding
of plastic film marked,
waxwork heartsease kicked in the groin.

How long can this conversation wander
before the fracture erupts
and the slimming seams can't hold out
the shimmering rain any longer?
How quick can I spin this bottle
to match the revolution of a silver barrel
sporting five vacancies?

Still mooring of sultry arms
stripped by morning blades,
a free ticket to the house of exile;
rebuked bill sticks to my neck, ink ingrained,
as I roll the boulder uphill,
the ticking haunts, unfading,
the noise of the world.

Condoned in cardiac entrapment,
lung wrestling and touch duels,
within gene strands, smoke grappling calisthenics.
Yet, should the burning wheel retort
I'll burgeon my spider legs, I know,
to stride the glass divide,
fleet-footed slip to the other side.