Saturday, April 24, 2010

midway through velvet incarceration

The boyish facade of that dynastic king
promises a pyramid of facsimile amusement,
a lame gold mask that falsely tames the rural mile,
and royally tenders the shrieking greens of spring.

What is drawn from the sapphire clouds
is also condensed in a spooky window:
a solo pine cone alone is spared in view
atop the hallowed spokes of spiral rubber.

Sycophantic circus freaks shuffle at last,
worshiping the retro karaoke of pecking divas,
at last the howls of where and squeals of when
are burst from the belly of a bulging tomb:

welcome to the threshold of banality.

Spun in a syrupy four part stigmata
odd sockets of the savior's sugary skull
have ceased to be a harmony that soothes.

Little Tina's sweet shoppe is barely stocked,
but emotions run high when the carny's in town.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Isn't it necromantic?

From a blossom born of yellow thrusts

the thought I thought half-dead dissipates
into a moon half-shrouded in tissue clouds:

from a bronzed and milky bosom,
starved in common of rare earths,
I was in vitro once-
but it seemed to barely last.

There was a fecund goddess there
coaxing dybbuks through the maze.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

out of body out of

A battered staircase leads to must,
a bookcase glimmers in lunar dust-

bathed by piercing cratered swoons
a parade of pears in yellowed lace
pins your retina to a waxing place,

the red rust redolence of indolent musk
spells with brief sleep the patina of moons:

every insight an insight
into the futility of insights.

In that lumina of nocturnal shade
you were the lizard on the arid shale,
shorn of scales on the dizzy down.

You thought it was astral to neatly creep
in parallel to the course of spooky stars:

pointing at Polaris, you were misinformed.

It's not that is was evil,
it's just that it was pointless.

Four months of perfect aridity
there in the polished mirror-
you still do not taste your gods,
here in the breathing desert.