The stream (all workshops)
Tonight I heard a snowflake
In fractal notation
Whisperings of dark winter
And death's final moments
In hushed hibernation
Unaware of his slumber
He is timed to replenish
One two three, one two three
Suspended in stillness
Yet timed to perfection
A new springtime birth
Repeated in verse
Awakened to life
He rejoices in momentum
To all that springs around him
Dew drops in the morn
patrons of kisses
christened in lapels
and perfumed pits
on knees dwelt
in din lit coffin wells
"whore" in marker on
the floor
and squashed match jackets
and chemical killed roaches
legs splayed
like shadows grimace
stuccoed hewn walls
where darkness fills
empty fists and blade thrusts
where heaven is a light bulb
speckled with a universe
of gutteral howls
hilted carboned hard ons and gleaming
manifestations of hollowpoint
prayers
The manifestation of thought
and the remembrance of those
who are now naught
makes voluminous content of dreams
someone is seemingly screaming
far from the poles of eternity
come along with me
your tenure down there
has lost all lure
there can be now no cure
but to stop your dream
stamp it out
to fetch you I am coming
midsummer's gardens
grandeur paradise
rain puddle lynch
agrarian and dust to dust
chronicle icons flashpoint iris
bulletins tin bullet " perusing'"
narrow voyage
from up-chin target
treadle a whetbriar needle
pedals nitro fled from theater impalement
I walked into the kitchen
and saw your note
full of lies,
full of spite,
full of casual malice,
and sighed a familiar sigh
as I took it down
from the fridge.
I read it once again
as I opened a drawer for matches
and stepped outside
into the clean,
fresh,
morning.
A morning of promise,
a morning of hope,
a morning you worked to sabotage
with your cruelty.
Dead Grey Wolf Skins
(Tribute: Aldo Leopold)
By Michael Lee Johnson
Dead grey wolf skins hang
on white clotheslines across Baraboo, Wisconsin
the dark surface, side of the moon,
that only exists in memories hung high, long before.
Hunters in the past did their job well,
sold skins, collected a few bucks,
increased deer for hunting, saved cattle,
decreased fear, told tales, short stories, adventures.
Laying down in this field just resting.
Resting from life’s riggers
just for a minute.
But never to rise again from an eternal sleep.
A green blanket tucked about their heads.
So many are they now.
In their counting that inevitable question,
When will I increase their
count by just one more.
Be not alone
all are lonely,
somewhere in the vastness of eternity
someone calls out instantly
still we say wait
time hasn't come yet
then the loneliness vanishes
the unknown comes in one’s dreams
and screams
where have you been!
one says
are you now asking
an autumn leaf?
the invisible one smiles alongside
now tis autumn
there is no surprise
hope you too will be
some day
flying about
side beside
What's this? There are low voices
Faint footsteps in the hall
No one supposed to be here
Just the Reverend, that's all
Tight and angry whispers
"We will kill him now"
" He's done this thing to all of us"
No more and that's our vow
The young girls filed in slowly
Steak-knives and clubs of wood
Killer shrank back in the shadows
Should he stop them... if he could?
capricious lantern brush
her first blush enchantress
a phosphorous merchant
cushions spells to curb him
withdrawn from nativity
like the cobras lazy form
who in turn caresses him placental
gives him the mammary placements
grape chests for patients paralysis tugging
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