Inarticulate Slipstreams

Bright night's asphalt steam devours
Hillside necking parked moon showers,
Beam's arced water sparkling tridents
Subvert firefly monuments;
Devoted tingle gardens' walls'
Cupboard door cradled ghostly shawls' -
Forests - now plow sunrise corn highways'
Sight broken breastfed one act plays.
Iridescent repossessed dreams
Of inarticulate slipstreams
Cascade by newborn unsuppressed
Symptoms with an acid-etched countenance;
Dispelled conditions' snowflake flair:
Wilderness - an unbuttoned stare.

Tolled Dull Waste

Fowl wind's
brash past
stashed
sky, blew
flush guts'
gust: blushed.

Sever all
thrill-kilt
stilled
lie, tolled
dull waste
waits: sculled.

Corrupted file's
flies memorize
disguised
profit: net's
nest subsidized.

Unrecalled Dreams

Walking through ancient corridors
over rickety bridges
behind new moon shadows

Singing atonal melodies
without breathing

Collapsing umbrella fantasies

Stranded on the edge
of a sand grain
without any salt

Drenched by your wordless rhymes
in my unrecalled dreams
as a cricket gasps

A tiny black kitten
with white paws
and a tiny white tufted ascot
who mews in the softest voice
scampers over to me every night
so that its owner raises a fuss
as it nuzzles into my lap

I hear my dead mother's voice
in the haunted river willow
awaiting the hand of cancer's taut grasp

Disconnected

On the contented fields
tiled with jigsaw puzzle
leaves - cue-cured by burning hues
where flaming dreams wander by
unlit-candle starry skies -
a day lecher never winks.
But flawed October teardrops,
crowded around faulty rifts,
pass the lines of discontent
furrowed into the ancient
brow of memories relived.
Feet feelings die by inches.
Enthusiasm falters
under the last mournful gaze
of quail eggs, whose longing
smothers calculated broods.
Clever sings in its own ears.

Solaced Wistless Sighs

An old man sits alone in the desert

Where he dreams of an island paradise

And when the late night slips into stillness

A faint light's illness whispers lies

Winter winds howl madness through the trees

As the faces from his past make him cry

Can a tall tale promise forgiveness

Though a wall wails solaced wistless sighs

Since birth he's lived to remember

Everyday he screams his lot to the sea

As the sand mainlines the sunshine

His hand combines refined melodies

When the old man climbs a mountain

And sits on a rocky terraced ledge

The bowels of the Earth will shudder

As his mirth fills mutters, wonders fledge

The Morgue at the Buddhist Temple

The morgue at the Buddhist temple

included news crews' oglers
after six Jesuit priests tried to revive
Russian television in a city bus.

People walked onto the highway
consuming the first fetuses.

An overpowering stench
began handing out
six-month sentences
for a water-only fast.

At the gates where people cross, thousands
gather to mourn exposed potential.

The Chinese news media died
in a chic blazer of sagging standards.

Largely censored
and threatening delay,
a divided Parliament
trivialized critics
with a non-binding,
but embarrassing, gaffe –
censure for old timers making bail –
pleading from the stage door.

A warning may not be enough.

For the most part,
life goes on.
It always has.


The following is a commentary which I wrote to accompany this poem:

Individuals encounter restriction and repression. The most basic and natural social desires among all individualized living creatures is for freedom of movement and choice - in other words, self-determinism.

As greater forces of repression, restriction and homogeneity of character and socialization are exerted within any nation, religion, society or culture, the more tension and pressure builds up within the individuals comprising the unit of socialization until an explosion threshold is ultimately reached.

The history of humanity can be categorized as progressive in that it has been marked by a constant movement towards empowering self-determinism and spreading freedom of personal expression and individualism.

Senses perceive motion. Minds perceive motion through space and time. As the motion of a body through space increases, its corresponding motion through time decreases. In the same way, as governments and cultures increase their restrictions on individuals and the pressure to conform is commensurately heightened, the urge to assert greater individual autonomy also grows. However, the desire for self-determination and individualism always remains a hidden undercurrent because it wells up from within individuals and remains mostly unspoken until a dynamic leader appears (capable of expressing what the individuals feel inwardly, but which they, often, either have no conscious awareness regarding the feeling or are unable to articulate it to either themselves or others) who excites and energizes masses of people beyond the explosion threshold.

With the perpetual transition from moment to moment and season to season, the vine of liberty blossoms with more and more flowers, yielding the fruit of self-determinism. The vines of liberty line the pathway toward the liberation of those collectives of people.

Liberation is a currency. Self-determination is the product that currency buys. Wealth, in such a socioeconomic system, can only be defined as transcendental harmony - which reflects the wisdom of individuals to respect all other living creatures and the understanding by social collectives that individuals' personal liberty must always have primacy over any and all collective interests.

Shattered glass
A magnet without poles
The little boy crying into his pillow,
A silenced yelp
A carousel with no brass ring
The little boy's finger in a light socket,
An empty sky dwelling
A heartbeat pumping no blood
The motherless litter of one,
Dusk without a sunset
A bee sting
The boy's knuckles smacked by a nun's ruler,
Perpetual delay
A barn without hay
The child drowning in the deep end,
A dry riverbed
A locked door
The boy's menacing father lies,
A walking caricature
A searing desert
The word echoing from birth to eternity, no.

Cassiopeia

A shooting star streaked,
cracking momentary brilliance
upon the new moon's canvas,
tattooing the black void
with its sole illumination.
The glowing, aphrodisiac aura
embraced emptiness, draping
vanilla and honeysuckle scents
on Cassiopeia's shivering
shoulders of silky alabaster.
Her bright eyes sparkled.
Cosmic winds seeded discovery,
eliciting an amused pleasure
acknowledged by her alluring
Mona Lisa mystery.
Only Adonis and Aphrodite witnessed
my brief, parking lot caress.
She planted an eternal garden
in the placid waters shimmering
from the forest of my heart.

Up I Conjure Learning Inner Whole

Up I conjure gift rapt down
Full of sour sweetened void.
In not lying you walk out
On me, giving getting off.
Now sew future summer past,
Here a humble stumble gone:
Live-in maid made furnace die
Black the grey, doom-bloom, bleached white.
Hush the instant droning sound!
Start to measure leisure's end.
Back when battles had no front
Sky cried coddled, cobbled ground.

Learning inner whole,
Creating game's transitional
Room doorway, talking.
Riding French questions,
Twilight columned writing
(Cross-nailed language):
Endless experience vehicle.