Her Protestant hair
The birth place of sultry stars.
In the beginning, there was God.
At the end,
There will be God
Humans are the intermission in this part of time,
Wrinkled and frayed as it is.
Ethics bloom in comfortable places.
A day’s work, a moment’s pay.
She is an elixir to the dazzling day.
She is a wayward bird
She’s the last good thing in an ubiquitous iniquity.
The curtain is falling,
Time winnows wood.
Hell prepares dormitories.
Rapturous butter yellow light,
Then, the last gasp,
Voices vivisected as though
Pushed through a sieve.
Hold hands
While you have them.
Day: October 29, 2024
Lucid
I am quietly lucid.
I don’t say this to brag.
They say the only thing
A person can best the Devil in
Is humility.
Humility,
That soft yellow sheath
Over my glowing hot skin.
But sometimes my mind
Makes memories without me.
Other times she sneaks into my soul
And my prayers come out as cotton,
My hallelujahs thorned and unprepared
For the lustful day.
My mind plays,
Swinging between despair
And ecstasy.
Despair reeks of old fire
And dust storms.
Ecstasy writes my name
In pink pen all over Virginia.
I wish my mind was still enough
To watch children grow up.
They grow like bitterness between
The berry bushes,
Poking into the canopy
Like vines looking for something to strangle
So that they may survive.
I love all of them,
Though they chose mothers elsewhere.
Lucid Lisa loves lemon lime
Laser lights,
And she dances
(Hold on while she climbs
Back into her I)
I dance as though my feet
Were in love with the soil.
A sordid, sultry affair
Between earth
And her resident looney.
God has granted me a vision
Of aprons and crude stars
And I smoke my dreams
On my neighbor’s porch
While he mines for lobotomized diamonds
Crisp and certain.
Depression
My thoughts are gridlocked.
Red travesties everywhere,
Blue regrets blurring
Into a wistfulness that tastes
Of honey and old soap.
The dark force is here again,
Its claws reaching from my
Quivering core to silence
The voice I have watered daily
For 30 anxious years.
How can I trample someone
With more arms and legs than I?
Depression as spider winding webs
All over the courtyard of my once ebullient mind.
Creativity needs me like the sun needs
Photosynthesis-
Which is to say she doesn’t,
But I need her desperately.
Peel the purposeless purple prose
From my prodigious mind.
Help me unearth truth,
Swimming as she does
Beneath us all
In the water table.
* Please ignore that the first lines are all capitalized. I can’t figure out how to fix that formatting problem on WordPress or in Word. It will be fixed before my book is published. This is a rough draft.
Water
Rivers run through my names, scoffing at the idea of unified identity and advantageous silt. Along one river is a boat named the Unbearable Blue. Named for Memory’s daughter – a blue so deep it makes me ache. My heart goes spastic. Horrendous banana flavored vanity leaks out on the floor like an unsupervised ocean. Help. The sharks are here with their collection of teeth and wits.
Inelegant Death
The man trapped in a rain drop drowns when he tries to smell it. The letter I wrote to you last year is pinned to a ray of sun called the Exorbitant Cuddle. My letters make mayhem with the luscious cosmos. Two drinks in and the year was drunk like the Communion wine. There is no end to the sort of suffering that will pull your heart out through your crotch. Only inelegant death, thriving.
Miniature Moon 