Sunday, January 18, 2015

Stifle Edith... if you can.

Art is like a fart... it comes unasked
with unsavory aromas and an
unlikely return... and yet,
you know it must just come.

How appropriately unjust.

That's the jest... better put all reason to rest.

I just wanted a little nap, a reason to escape
on a couch with no reason to wake.

In a mind unsound with rhythm and wine
there trembled a small and resonate quake.

I had to wake... to bake a cake, to tame a snake.

The words were there and I got up to stare...
at a computer screen... a dumbed down stare.

Oh blessed curse...what the hell was that verse?

Wisps of clouds and a slip of the tongue
is a poetic license to the very young.

I'm not that dumb.

Forgotten in an instance, but I'm still here.

It was important at the time, but now I just

I'm still here!


Ya gotta know the caterpillar
to be the butterfly.

Oh my, how wry.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Let's be clear... the fog continues. Blow hard.

Oh so now you have awakened
and it's not what you wanted,
pray tell what you wanted,
if not this awkward squawk
smack in front of your face;
pie in the sky and a cherry in the eye
beyond time and space.

No, you're not a disgrace.

Love as you know it is a dead deal,
a dialogue with a demigod...

who is not for real.

No big deal.

I faced that fog and met myself,
gray and misty on a bus to nowhere.

It was real.

Show yourself, I screamed...or so it seemed.

The bus careened around the streets with screaming
and terror and a drama complete. One part of me knew so well
that we are really completely drawn to a life of hell.

Oh well.

I was honored and revered for all my ridiculous fear.
The bus stop was my bed, warm and cosy with a buzzing
in my head. A nightmare of a misty and musty old fog...
but there was nothing to say or nothing to hide, I chose
to partake of this incipient smog.

In the early morning, under the stars... Orion, Pleiades
and Venus and Mars.

I inhaled the smoke of the dream as it came, woke up, thought awhile... and blew it out hard. Come and get me while I dance and I sing... a song, that I learned long ago.

It got nuttin' to do wid a hollow wood bling.

Fog is gray and a mysterious kind, better than black or white if you're unsure of the box... grey is a hound chasing the fox.

A vixen... a flower, as lethal as foxglove. Take it off slow...
one finger or petal at a time. The fog will clear, a heart will quicken,
the gray will morph to colors in time; a sun dog is barking
as the colors entwine.

Blow Gabriel glow... he is a woman, ya know?

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

The reprimand

Oh I saw a corporate window
and it could have been my own,
a blond and chastised woman
without her chastity phone

in front of a lesser boss. How dross.

The big man came in swinging
though small in stature be,
arms a flailing, shouts assailing to
the lesser goddess than he.

Now I do not know her crime
but surely it was there,
her hands were pounding out a code
and I knew that she was scared.

Do not let those tears flow for this.

The lesser boss had his back to me,
the greater boss yelled and then did flee, but
i could not see his face. He fled in
anonymous disgrace. A mouse without a face.

She sat there brave in an odd discourse
pretty, yet shitty, but it could be worse.

The office, now empty is still brightly lit
but a goddess with binoculars had caught the hit,
this sad and ancient empire is afraid of the clit.

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?
The shadow knows; and it will take a woman's
heart to call it out.