Geography of the Soul
On the edges of the mind
powerful rivers gush futility -
into seas of lost knowledge
a wealth of treasure lies forsaken
in corrosive pleasure.
Lakes of love get muddled,
trampled through by man -
into a muddy nothingness;
slime and stale algae,
impenetrable and ghastly.
Mountains of honesty are covered,
dumped upon with recycled filth,
knowingly and lawfully so -
tumor truths stand tall,
incurable,
forever lush they shall grow.
The Cycle is Complete
Winter eyes
as blue as snow,
let me into widening cold.
Spring blossoms -
cherry red,
you lick me off with flower tongue.
Summer heat;
a brighter glow
than any light I've ever known.
Autumn leaves
in orange winds -
with yellow fingers set me free.
A Song for my Dearly Departed
It was the reeds in the water that made me do it; they wouldn't keep quiet. They raised their voices to a level of understanding that only I could hear; they begg-ed. More than often I've asked for removal of this burden - this backwards battle of belief.
The grasses floated in gritty ignorance of my plead on our mutual surface of misunderstanding. Yet I sit and sneer at my darling accomplishment, bathed in beautiful motionless fear; my phobia and utter disgrace as I paddle with solid feet in seas of red.
Direction
Red dust roads lead me home to you,
a bell rings in a tower -
announcing my arrival
(as if the world needs to know).
Broken compass points in my direction,
magnetic fields of dead rice plantations
announce your presence,
and leaves me aluminum tongued.
On a shabby swing,
anxious feet touch;
red dust toes pointing to galaxies
(only heaven knows where).
Do you remember when the light was low
and rainbow pot of gold lit up your face?
That's where we need to go.
Tonight.
On Farms
Anxiety ploughs through eroded soil,
in dust that's lost its particle glimmer -
chocolate-chip in dark red display,
as desperation toils
and simmers.
From left to right callused hands labor,
in tune with feather-edged clouds -
candy-floss white in soft blue array,
hope lifts its head
and comes back around.
Enthusiasm sprouts as hardened soil's treated,
trust is restored where once loomed sorrow -
chocolate-chip brown is sprinkled with green,
the farmer looks up
and smiles for tomorrow.
Joy is short-lived in this world of the future,
Cumulonimbus takes over with mal-intent -
purple cheeks puff and throw up white ice,
the farmer takes cover,
and so does lament.
The Tragic Suicide of Molly McPhereson and JJ Maloney
As the candle light performs
a silent encore,
he reaches for the convenience
of a lamp switch on the floor,
only to remember
the electricity had been cut
a week before.
"Get up. It's time to move out."
As the gas stove hisses
its green and blue spirit dance,
she dabs at the anxiety
of her tears, and gives him a glance,
realizing that their bags
had been packed -
Two weeks ago, in advance.
"I never liked the place. Too stuffy."
As the door bursts open
and the door bangs shut,
they face the uncertainty
of a moonlit path that leads the way;
hand in hand they stagger,
trudging deeper and deeper
and further astray.
"The children are gone. They've been taken away."
As they plod
into the mouth of darkness,
which speaks incomprehensible cobble stone dialects
under the broken heels of her click-clack shoes,
his knees light up
and strengthens his stride
(in uncertain blues).
“The time has come,
the time has arrived.
Follow me always
and be by my side.”
As pine needle forest carpet devours
them whole,
JJ sits down and brings forth a packet unfold:
“This knife is yours
and that knife is mine,
be as it may,
two souls intertwined.”
“As mist casts its magic
and swallows your tongue,
swallow it wholly
we’ll be in the sun.”
The Dream Catcher
In the mountain’s belly
he hunkered down,
choking on the toxic fumes
of decaying walls,
themselves exhaling stench.
Wild tunnel-twists sent him down,
deeper, as he stumbled
in search for his dream,
of love and hope
and the proverbial light.
A bubbling sound lit up his face,
steam hiss-heat;
a weary hand reached out
and snatched the dream
from where it was rest-waiting.
He clambered back to the cave entrance
with his dream tucked in the leather pouch around his neck;
he squinted in the sun-white light and set it free,
the dream drifting down for others to catch
as his frail frame disappeared to find another.
