Masked Avengers

Cleaved cleft chins, white teeth, braces, pink watermelon lipgloss, and beards all seem ridiculous these days. Behind a mask there’s no way to shine a smile of gratitude to a shop clerk or for someone’s kindness in holding open a door. We look plastic in polarized soundless shock. The cranes fly overhead in t-formations migrating from and to places I never studied and to think about it those birds I knew, birds where I’ve been basking in year’s outside. We live in the same warmth that those millions of million year old northerners calved their ill suited families to drag suitcases behind them. Straining and scraping down all the front porch stairs while waiving goodbye wearing dry dirt colored corduroys and flag striped mock tops. Masking the sounds of the dead floorboards as winter draws nearer, I cracked my knuckles on hands divided by savage time.

Magic Love

Love, one magic number counts four letters of chance and change, positive to negative on your life line a test handed in and then passed and rearranged.

Love, a perfect prism’s reign of color – incarnadine and rosy – lies like a white rabbit’s eyes they follow you. Upstairs, a curtain’s drawn open to a magician who hides up inside his sleeve dark tricks though at first sight you still watch him closely.

Love, lives in a magic city. A filthy town, where you arrived this afternoon, driving deserted sand hill lined roads, the landscape finally yields to billboards on which you read that in the suburbs no ones home or even sleeping.

Love curls like a lazy house cat. Striped and fat it’s mind wanders to windows sleepy and teased by birds and other moving targets.

Love runs faster than a sports car. Shining, topless, windy hair whips your at your cheek – it wasn’t meant to breakdown when you need the ride the most and leaving you in solitude its engine sounds like goodbye.

Love sails with you upon a magic carpet from far away it stops and awakens you from silken dreams. Burgundy and bubbly flows through you and turns your inside out from smiles to screams of pain.

Love, the story playing in a cool dark theater. The wife died at the end the husband writes, couldn’t it be me not her? Then he wipes his eyes and instead with deep regret, throws out his pen and just asks why?

Stay Home Made

#read-poetry #poetry

Bubbling from the glass lake
Street lights buzz in
Our window. “It looks straight,”
Hanging there like a mirror.
Within it a reflection of
This house. Home light floods
Down the hall, a tsunami

Rushes in
The bedroom doorway
Taking up all the air.
Waves high enough to
Spill out our windows.

It’s dark enough to get bitten
By spiders. Dark enough
To nap into a room filled
With empty dishes displayed
And waiting for the kill.
But not hungry enough
To eat your heart out instead
To feast on your fears.
Swallow from the saliva
Once induced by just a
Single picture of it.

Just the word alone
Or the thought of pineapple
So strong that it burned
My cheeks, tingled, drips off
My tongue like hot sauce
On a summer day
A salty sweet day.

The dream I had of sleep
A dream of a dream
Laying closely and
Near everybody, touching.
I am The Road the yellow lines
Where a motorcycle’s rust
Lost it’s grip and slipped
From inside the Gas tank.
Without food
Even metal feasts like a meal.
Yet in one great
And momentous breath I
Inhaled taste and scent
I found umami
You and I sweet and
Tasted oddly like love.

When did you ask
For your liberation
From desire?
Tear off the disguise
Worn in the war
Against want
To never suffer, or
Lose freedom from
Ordinary things you
Waste instead of own?
Owing a debt, none the
Less: gratitude
Becomes a feast for one.

Questioning resolves
A thirsty soul’s spy for
Who’s the master?
Are there even any
Leftover brave saints?
And everything at once –
Can you conceive of it all?