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.

May 28th, 2009 - Commercial Interruptions

"Commercial Interruptions"

Game shows roll across snowy screens,
Hissing and spinning nightmares.
Contestants clutch new furniture,
Wheel sofas inside cramped ranchers
Pressing against jammed doors,
Locked windows.
Talk shows turning up lost children,
Forgotten parents,
Mistresses of the plumber’s wife.
Stained glass windows shine,
Lighting precious china, golden candles.
Prizes, presents, and prisoners
Lovingly arranged and showcased,
Placed on shelves in suburban homes,
Suffocating hallways and cluttering cabinets.
Midday rides inside on a thoroughbred stallion,
Swords swinging like children in a playground,
Terrified tears trickling past a plastered grin
When a soap opera begins
And a teacup falls.

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.