Tuesday, May 21, 2013

found divinity (submission-ready)


You are my goddess.
watching your form
at a far-flung clip-
eyes trace the dance of a curve
from your waist to your hip
as if they had tongues-
pausing at every inch,
hungry yet unsung
mutate my mood to robust-
inspire soliloquies
words so fervent they combust
trace the incline of your smile
teeth bared, eyes alight,
angel arranged to beguile-
You are my goddess.
have seen you in a head-trip,
a dream or meditation
now corporeal before me
my vitality near detonation-
a prayer in solidity, 
a lucid realization of hope-
assuredness transfigured turbidity
perplexity knowing no scope-
mixtures of elation and reverence,
aversion and obsession
fascination with no severance-
I'm enamored but with trepidation-
rouse me forward
and find me trekking with relish
combine dynamism and rhyme
no need to embellish 
You are my goddess.

* * *

Written while considering a rather blissful companion, back in 2002 or 3.

perpetual care 'til the end of time (submission-ready)


"Perpetual Care 'Til the End of Time,"
says the faded-out printing
on the ramshackle sign.
Tombstones guarding the
grown-over paths- names chipping
slipping silently to ground,
yielding to twin wraths
of time and circumstance.
Empty beer bottles
strewn about blazes of
stickerweed and thistle
prickly points of cacti replace
the sign's exaggerated epistle.
Water pooling stale, teeming sick 
with larvae and disease
affairs foreboding wafting despair
to the very canopy of the trees.
Intaglio of Jesus invaded
by blue-green moss-
life blooming on dead stone savior
hanging limply from crafted cross.
All anonymous residents now corpses 
and fertilizer for the forests and wilds
feeding from spent decades of
a landscape and era free of charades.
From the heavens rain down
distant recollections of a chime:
nature keeping covenant
'tween ghosts and sounds sublime,
"Perpetual Care 'Til the End of Time."

simulacrum (submission-ready)


Smelled upon breath is
sweet bottled optimism-
swallowed, pasteurized
chemically-born mask.
Translucence over eyes grants 
sight as though a veil-
a shelter velveteen-tender
demeanor muted, certitude paled-
a stimulating simulacrum
this aftertaste of life.
About my spirit a phantasm
flavored of doubt and paranoia
it cradles like a shroud of
sumptuous cashmere,
proud rococo styling like
foolish notions held dear-
ideas, ideals and influence.
Structure of soft plastic outside
but innards of limpid steel expands 
and ripens-a plenary prison keep
buttressed by cruel homilies.
Spirit inside sits petrified
waiting in vain for resolution
in this self-styled sepulcher.