Friday, January 20, 2017

Spider Ascendant




Spider Ascendant







The Fat God preens
on his eight stick legs;
no one tells
how he got so fat.
No one cares
who he ate last night.
 
In his ceaseless spin,
his angry twit,
no one observes the
arachnid eye
fixed cold below on his
appetite's end.

Five hundred mirrors
twice turn back light
on his blinded flies
their wings bloody buzzing
through broken glass
their deathwish devotions.


~January 20, 2017












Image: Ghost Spider © Ceecore, deviantart   fair use


Saturday, January 14, 2017

Song From The Underworld



Song From The Underworld




Below the mountain
still 
you were there.
Warm in the dark
my breasts flew out to you
like two ringed doves,
your lips were snowmelt
fading on poppy-fields
white to red, winter to
spring--
springing
soft soft
on my back,
your hands that saved the world
for last,
below the mountain
where the dead abide.



~January 2017












a belated 55 for the new old year..









Photo: © Aurore de Sousa  Fair use via internet

Thursday, January 5, 2017

New Year's Fool









New Year's Fool

I am from yesterday,
but not.

My veil is the cloud of a dozen
dead species of moth,
my too-short skirts some dismal fabric
that only comes in black,
like bombazine.

My face is from nowhere,
but not.

My hands namaste,
my hair is a madwoman's coif,
a harlot's passport.
I stole my maryjanes from
a Harajuku girl

stoned in the Mission,
I have no eyes

but 
you feel me watching you.
Some say I'm a fool,
but 
I'm not.

 ~January 2017




 posted for     real toads

a very impromptu write for









Image: artist unknown, fair use.






Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Song On the Election Of The 45th President




Ode to the Electoral College
on electing the 45th president

It's a killer concept
whose time has come:
 the dollar can talk
without any tongue;
dead pennies for eyes,
 an orange cherry nose,
soft phony fur and invisible toes.
Beat the boys down with your money stick,
today's the day
the billionaires have their picnic.

Out in the dark
without their mums,
they count their money
don't need any thumbs
to shine the machines
while the silly slaves bleed,
to steal all they can
from the hometown of greed.
Throw out the old, the starving and sick.
Today's the day
the billionaires have their picnic.

Forget Karl Marx.
Forget Langston Hughes.
Dance the Titanic
in your Gucci shoes.
Frack all the oil
at the point of a gun.
Step on the bodies
that pay for your fun.
Beat the world down with your money stick;
today's the day
the billionaires have their picnic.

~December 2016














Teddy Bear meme fair use via the internet

Sunday, December 18, 2016

Wasp's Nest


Wasp's Nest


A heart hangs now
in the center of winter
a vacant nest
built of poison and paper
empty celled
where each lover lingered
in change, a drone to the flame
till ending's escape.
A collection
of spaces, 
exit wounds, dead places 
to make recollection's ruinous progression,
 first conceiving to last leaving,
a Fibonacci hanging swaying;
a summer home buzzing connection
now shelled and blown
on the white breath of the North
while the ambitious maker,
light as that empty cold
quickly curling her legs, 
lays down her husk on the crackled grass



~December 2016








posted for real toads 




21 lines for Kerry's   Final Twilight 


and some rather surreal musical comic relief:















Image: author unknown, fair use via the internet

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

The Beach



The Beach


Here in the dry constellations,
Orion winters in the blue west, the
Drinking Gourd spills silver on the void, and
the Seven Sisters crowd together, 
quilting the smothering night.
I miss the beach.

I miss the salt, I miss the sweet
curled wave that rolled the wind
in a gestured wand
of air and water,
joining two lurching things
ungainly in their solitary progress,
shelled and crabbed in solitude
into one smooth moving beast
hip to hip, stride for stride
tandemed untarnished

because you chose to throw
your arm around my neck
and let us spin

in the eddy, as the tide
ran out, till we were dizzy

and all the slipping stars
cleared the boards and moved
their heavy banquet
to our eyes.

~December 2016















Images: The Enchanted Beach with Three Fluid Graces, 1950 Salvidor Dali, Detail. Fair use
Elenita At The Beach, Asturia, 1903, by Joaquin Sorolla Public domain