Ahab 2014

Mental archipelagoes protect my disbelief
pristine island fortresses of mind
surrounded by odd currents where dark creatures prowl a reef
that is the one and only of its kind

blasphemous iniquities have driven me insane
and fabricated lies I can’t control
delivered by euphoric mutants as a mad refrain
that echos through the canyons of my soul

Honey Spill

(for Susan Lynn O.)

It only seems a dark lottery is fixed
Your numbers were a Helios calculus

beyond doubt. Your eyes filaments,
honeycomb butterflies pinned on a record

needle. Your night music got louder,
the beat jaundiced. Our suburban

noir morphed towards it’s assured end,
but don’t we all? No. Not like this. A ballet

of bonding shadow on white picket
points, we float! Two Rorschach blots

inside a canvas tear. Let the liquor have
its spirit. It only seems a dark lottery is fixed.

I sat ever so silently,
Not a whisper escaping my soul.
What's true-
Might not always be reality,
Nothing is ever built whole.
I watched the birds fly,
All across the deep azure-
Of the sky,
Circling in depth of my eyes-
And then I realized,
I was staring at an ocean.

She sat inside her ice-cream life
and guessed the number of
bingo markers it might take
to win the jackpot.
Sometimes she questioned why
so many people drove her
crazy. Insulted her.
She divided her friends and lovers
into good and bad directions.

It was raining outside when
she began to cook the supper.
The stove was hot she was cold.
She was always cold in her house,
in her ice vein kitchen with
the pretty white lace curtains
and the yellow-green walls.

Sometimes it feels-
All I do,
Is paint over the scars.
In silence I conceal,
What's real,
And who we are.
So, Here's to the wounds-
That won't heal,
As I steal-
Words that'll be my last.
From the grave of my dreams,
That I've seen-
Behind an ashen'd mask.
Walking through the walls,
Entrapped in my own-
As age burns my all,
With a shadow that time casts.
Gone by morrow,
Lest it all turns to dust-
Yesterdays meld in a heart.

wit
...
.......
is d shit
that won't fit
in yr everyday coffin

>coughing sound

hey this one's still alive
...
thrive
i
dare
u

Phineas, son of Belus,
privileged for only want.
Will you accept true merit
integrity holds for you?

T’was not lack of doubt nor clout
strength, but pride denied your prize.
Fight and flight! Valorous plight!
Surely she should be here now.

Bitterness your consolation.
Which this, you take so eagerly; gingerly.
Andromeda wretchedly stolen away!
Cruelly mocked by him; Winged Betrayer!
Her with her complacent laughs.

There must be ghosts in our house!
First, I saw an old man in our bathroom
this morning.
Then my wife thought she saw some frumpy old
hag in the bedroom!

I went to look for her ghost and she went
to look for mine. I saw the old man in her bedroom
and she saw the old woman in the bathroom!

There seems to be something strange going on!

We decided that someone must be playing tricks on us.

Sun baking slightly on my skin.
As I walk alone upon a naked morning beach
I looked and saw not one human print,
Only those that were left by me.

Then I notice there was writing in the sand.
A language I did not understand.
I tried hard to figure what language this could be.
A lone Seagull landed five feet in front me.

I realized then,
That it was nature's way of revealing its thoughts
Which were left by winged fowls
Upon a desolate beach.

Carmel, Carmel – how I love your dells and swells
your wild unkempt rambles and shambles.
How beautiful you are – when the sun ambles,
yawning a morning of glitter, bright, light
on the misty fresh crèche' of spring green
where new growth is seen – Bluebells and garlic
idle their waft, reeling a ceiling of pungent perfumes
and Ah! the blooms, the blooms!
Those glossy leafed bowers
and hawthorn flowers
dewy and gemmed
by warm summer showers.