News Of The Whirled

 News Of The Whirled

It's all pix

elated into mess, crackled

digital distortion, tonight's

broadcast. The set's

failing.

A hunger, a shadow,

black furred blur

of flesh and age

mouths at the edge

never still except the lull

of false hope

its only cunning.

It's all so neat

so cancelled and concluded

here at the ending

and yet occluded

dispossessed;

the ordered home so long

invaded--

 a house

redecorated

by earthquakes.

~May 2017

 posted for Brendan's News

Images: Stardust, 1993, © Peter Alexander. Fair use via wikiart.otg

The House of Ill Fame, by Heironymous Bosch, circa 1500. Public domain.

Milkweed

Milkweed

Open the gates

of your lips and let me

pass, even as

you ripen mine

to that soft splitting

by your tongue.

Trade me your hands

for this furious waste,

breathe thaw on

the frozen plates

that slide and grind

our ties unbound.

Cast each threadbare

husk of garment down

upon the changing earth

so we may turn, turn

from dead to worse

to life again,

popping like milkweed

on the wind, red blood

to white spires, tassels and

catkins of old desires;

asterisks

and afterthoughts,

argonauts, two

fools of wide waters

floating the blue storm

through clouded pillars

over the shoals

of a thousand suns.

~May 2017

 Images: Milkweed, author unknown, fair use via internet

The Argo, by Lorenzo Costa: 1st third of 16th century via wikimedia commons