31 October, 2009 - "Montecito Complex, 1986"

Montecito Complex, 1986

Clouds, Crimson:
Snapping branches the sky tumbles downward,
Machines rolling onward,
Manufactured Men strung along the Forest
Stagger past the sleeping Cardinals
Toward the factories.
Uniforms, Yellow:
Alarms whine with exhaustion,
Elation,
Workers dancing in unison grab levers,
Children in a Toy Box,
Daunting tasks rendered menial,
Not meaningless,
Active, proactive, Professional.
Springing above inferior superiors-
Supervisors-
Penthouse, Purple:
Hands adorning the regal halls,
Nails supporting custom portraits,
Drapes of hair shielding the sun,
Cinder Block Smiles Illuminating
Lampshades of Flesh,
Ocular ice cubes spilling vodka
Over Your rugs of marrow.
Tumbling skies puncturing Your palace,
Standing above the flattened vendors,
Immobile and Ascending,
Grazing eyes survey the barren surface.
Tombstones, Blue:

26 October, 2009 - Haiku

Acorns tumble Down
Splitting malnourished Branches
uprooting Forests

new intersections
twisting through the dismal town:
Faulty Wiring.

Sparrows flying West.
Tornadoes running Eastward.
Finding Hollywood

25 October, 2009 - "Oncoming Traffic"

"Oncoming Traffic"

Dishes dry out for the second time this evening,
As water massages our roof and the floor starts creaking.
An ostrich tramples down the stairs that night,
Dressed up like a sailor and eating all the moonlight
Until flames flicker out from all his feathers.
Spiced rum spilling on the table is all that I remember.

You carry a chandelier in as the house becomes lifeless,
Sitting in a musty room with all new devices,
And I have a bottle of whiskey and firecrackers
As the men on the television start talking backwards.
Hours of conversation all ending with the weather,
Our final flask of vodka will nearly last forever.

Teacups flying off the china cabinet,
Flowers dying in the garden outside,
Our tables buying stocks online.
Reading menus by the candlelight left both of us blind.
Yesterday morning we found your rope and his letter,
And with each empty glass we both begin to remember.

20 October, 2009 - Ragnarok

"Ragnarok"

Perched upon the telephone pole the crows watch the trash yard,
Miniature trapeze artists hopping with a surgeon's precision,
Wallowing in the culmination of earthly aroma, rising out of existence.
Swatted by the charred tires and week old cardboard coffee cups,
Chirps and shrilled squawks comment on the scurrying mice below.
Scampering from Chinese take-out cartons to towering soup cans,
Collecting for the night, scouring the yard's confines.
Cackles as the creatures stare at the colonies of rats nesting,
Holed up in worn out sneakers,
Piled atop one another like building blocks,
Defending the last rotten apple.
Swooping downwards in unison the crows grab the rodents,
By broken backs, wriggling tails, or paws in talon,
Weaving through telephone wires during ascension,
Roosting once more after the feast.
Rain drizzles down on the broken beaks,
Cawing for the lightning to strike.

May 29th, 2009 - Haiku

Vultures peck, with Love
Upon the Sleeping child
Whispering new Truths-

March 28th, 2009 - Freyr Saga

“Freyr’s Flight”

Cardboard boxes wheeled in through the door,
Neighbors listened as the screams were suppressed.
Shoplifted dreams and expectations are stored,
Seeking a new final place to rest.

Our old house was like a garden
On a Saharan night in May,
Our new house is the wrapping paper
One morning after Christmas Day.

Cranes roost on the picket fence,
Gleeful stares shattering our windows,
While you watch nightly new programs
And the over burns our first dinner.

“Freyr’s Seclusion”

Raindrops spill over pots strewn across the floor,
Falling through our bedroom ceiling.
Retreating to my chair I contemplate these feelings
Longing for the flames that burned our home
Yearning for the fire that charred your face
Forgetting the flames that spared our hate,
Pouring another glass of scotch to douse my regret.
Water runs down the door’s throat
Cutting off the house’s lower level
Washing away our unpacked cardboard
Diluting open liquor bottles on the table
Vomiting old photos of our wedding night
Flooding from the front door into the street.
Cranes fly from storm clouds to the creaky roof.
Staring, my empty glass reflects a distorted face,
Winds blow a moldy scent through my nostrils
And a puddle numbs my bare feet.

“Freyr’s Morning Meal”

Cranes settled by the garden side, watching with remorse,
Our two plates piled with pancakes on the clean kitchen table.
Cloudy skies peeled away revealing an orange globe
Hanging from the neck of a raven taking a final flight west.
Cattle grazed and goats rammed heads along the fence,
Peacocks preened inside our kitchen, stripped of two walls,
As we sat in silence, pouring syrup and stale whiskey.