Saturday Night

No money left and anyway no one to spend it on;
Another Saturday, Saturday night. Smooth-soft,
Sapphire and salmon-pink light over dark alleys
Toss amber down to make there double shadow;
Sat is the shark-night here on this street of souls.

Numbers

Tangled numbers, compressed in themselves, burst forth
From their imprisonments to parse equations; statements
For the propositions of a possibility of worlds yet to come.


The numbers come before the worlds to make the worlds,
And the worlds come before me and the worlds made me,
Sum and total of all their making; but what have I made?

Wit

Small wit encased in narrow skulls have these priests and clerics,
Monks and rabbis too; add to them those teachers and professors,
Lawyers and the judges, and all these politicians too; nothing but:
Imams of Banality.

Wild

The studied vine tardy seems to born the wild grape.

Fear

In this land, a foul wind is blowing fierce, a hurricane of fear.
Companioning the stinking gale comes flashflood of paranoia;
Closing houses' shuttered windows, drawn blind to the world.
This is the New Order. It's crept upon us, assassin in the dark.

Citizen

We have no voice over them; no speech to stay our disgust at politicians.
Just
Remember
The problems with them began so long ago in the fumbling beginning of
This
State;


In Constitution fawned upon so much it's become seditious desiccation, a
Casket
Corpse;
There is shown a hatred of tyrannous states and faiths rebelled against, a
Stated
Wrath.  

After

This light that bleaches the clouds of noon of color
Scours deeply inside; decayed angels of the white
Speech of lightning, conveying voice to the blood:


After.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes.

Blue Vespers

As boxers hammer blows upon those bruises already made,
Summer's sadness was hard shown by the hallowed moon's
Blue vespers' chant; its sharp pinching blight of twilight into night.


Short miseries make for long stories by such; those stretched tellings of That Moon.
In these terrors of the night, skies bleed there the bright blood of stars.

Costume

Perhaps once; well now, it was some time ago, this sad world
Presented itself as new; and I, myself, yes, was once new too.
New dress can't hide old face. Summer shows her Winter too.

The Hurricane Season

Everything that bends, bows in.  Like a pulled-back bow,
With the re-curved shrug of shoulders, the world can be
Dismissed; let go entirely, ignored, as its string is spent;
An arrow of time hurled to future, leaving us left behind,


In this Season of the Hurricane. 

Example

Some small semblance of lived art was illustrated here,
Each sentence acting as a semaphore for greater truth,
A pointing of the way hinting at an emergence to come,
In contrast to life ending as example of how not to live;
For skin has eye to see and its sight is an original right.

Cornice

A shadow space of emptiness behind, the cornice
Keeps a bust within its corner of the dark: A face,
Familiar and concealed, set in a determined gaze;
I know not who it is nor even why it stares out so.

Naked

Bare your heart into a nudity; severance of public pose,
A disrobing of your soul, so what you are is same to all.

Strung

Sunder and forever sever the strings of love.  Go: Savage them.
Small epiphanies come unbidden; arrive sudden, unannounced.
Anger the sorrows of the soul, so to make them out loud shout.


The catch and clasp of lust's compulsion, broken now at last;
In smile and with farewell wave to former capture of desire,
Your strung harp of passion, place aside.  Untune the heart.

Drum

Blast this scarred rock, and scrub it phosphorous white;
So, it seems to shine, by a glow that pulses from inside.


This rock, this small arc of aorta, smacks a beat, a pause;
Then becomes drummed again by serum passing through.


Smooth passage, the cleansed artery, bends the blood;
Guides it through all the locks and levels of the heart,


With every pulse, with every drum-spasmodic thump,
To wash life through each portico of organ and of limb.

Dogs

They scent us by the smells of our tongue, by our
Speech; four-legged and fierce in inquisitiveness.


That bitch-bureaucracy of tenured hacks forcing
A curriculum imposed upon the young of simple
Subjects, easy courses; that have no reflection,
No bearing, upon reality and which convey skills
Not needed, nor appreciated, in the workplaces
Of today; no skills necessary for pupils' survival.


These teachers and these professors, are dogs;
Are slaves to the leash and to the reins of their
Faculty master, lecture of life they know nothing
Of; that they are not acquainted with, and have
No experience of, and poison the minds of their
Students in deluded, preposterous propositions.


They leave behind them a devastation; long debt
To be repaid by jobless graduates. And this, this,
These dogs have an audacity to bark and declare
As a public education; when all they've imparted
Is dead language, a swollen tongue of nonsense
And meaningless syllabication; speech of howls.


For the youth, such education is imprisonment;
That jail that keeps them from their play of joy.

Foam

The blare-smacking white foam tops of the waves
Barrels into beaches, smashing sand from its way;
Heavy tread of sodden feet of water tripping over. 


With every wave, some reverie is brought to ruin;
Deluged by a suddenness of an unexpected spray
Of regret, that hangs over the present and bursts;


Smearing the small quiets of a mild summer's day
With intensities of images and sounds, broken and
Distorted; glistening spectacle, in spumes of spite.

Hurricane

Wine-reds and stout-blacks, rivers of blood run
Through the vast infinity of desire and of space;
Making hurricane of sentience and immortality.


A still, soft summer's night holds many a story of stars;
A fascination of bright ribbons of delight floating above,
Strung pearls of brilliance shining there in silver strand.


They who seek a crutch of faith, who lean upon beliefs,
Might pause to gaze above, astonished at what they see;
Currents in heavens, that cause tornadoes of the heart.