Linen...
Crashing ships in saltwater passion,
as our black souls sink into silence.
A satisfied drunk pulls out his gun.
He swallows his heart and slowly chews
on an old scar. Cold eyes, gray moon,
a frozen field of translucent jellyfish, and
ground as hard as metal.
Graves covered in death grow fast,
when the enemy is dreaming. Bottles
of whiskey,
leftover bread, living death below
naught….don’t change my linen, I will
not cry as the mirror breaks, for I will
crash my own damn ship.
Fireplace
The green tapestry of trees fades into oblivion, as the mountains
dissolve.
Like a giant crushed Oreo cookie, dirty colors of mud and snow
blanket the hillside.
Safe from the storm in shadowy skin,
I hunker down through thick storm windows, as the white monster
attacks one hill after another, shooting its white salt from the belly of
its giant popcorn maker.
Pajama tucked in my mountain bunker, the fireplace now becomes
my companion, speaking to me as it devours my wooded crop. The
glowing illumination of the charred cedar skins from the fireplace
belches out for more as the crimson crackles.
Hissing into a wall of flames, winking with its amber eye, like Jupiter’s
hot spot; it pulls me in.
Staring into a fire raises the fire spirits.
As my skin melts to ash, I become entranced by the fire, like a
prehistoric man, listening and watching, with each crackle and pop.
I slide back into yesteryear, carbon dating my thoughts of
mankind……fire dances, eating woolly beasts, and pulling women by
the hair.
‘There is some rum in the house,’ I shout, leftover from a dead friend.
I saved it for a miserable day or the end of the world.
I slam open the wooden cabinets and yell, ‘oh yeah, there it is.’
Thinking of my dead friend, I uncork the trophy bottle and take a big
swig, and then slowly pour a few shots into my metal camping cup, a
souvenir of warmer days.
Back at the fireplace, watching it growl with its intelligence, I wave
another piece of cedar skin and tease the fire with my arsonist
behavior, asking the burning demon, ‘Do you want some more of this?’
My dog Madison, with her elongated icicle face, cuddles up on the tail
of my blanket. Melting away her winter cares, she sits by my side,
obedient and unafraid of the white monster outside. I bend over and
gently stroke her head and offer her my brandy; she answers by
backing away, and with her fire-reflective eyelids, she flicks her snake
tongue with dog determined disapproval.
I tried for a few years to save that tree and I actually dug a hole
around the base and planted some new dirt and fertilizer, my idea of
a band-aid I guess. I was warned by the Mexican tree guy, Octavio,
that someday it’s going to fall on my house, and now....
It’s chopped up dead skin of reds and yellows fade from wood to ash;
it’s kenneling my memories of summer as it smolders on.
After a few more shots of rum, I challenge the fire spirits by throwing
a shot of rum into the fireplace and as it explodes into a giant ball of
flames, I see the face of my dead friend come out through the fire,
and I tell him, thank you my dear friend for life and death, and thank
you for the rum. You were a very good friend.
Helium of Red...
Fortunately, she was hot-wired for death and that’s
what drove the cat insane. Only a fleshless death can
eat the living, as the cat captures the tiny footsteps
without a heart. Lavender feathers covered in blood,
green eyes reflect the remains of the chickadee,
cleaning teeth and claws are a daily thing. Radiant
helium of red lipstick marked the trail of her unholy
heart as she dragged the cat with her. Masterminded
her masterpiece in the gleaming moonlight with a
shovel, champagne and a cat on a leash; her ghost is
devoted to her abandoned dreams.
Releasing luminous fireflies from her eyelashes, they
light up the tombstones and show her the way, and
even though she was hotwired for death, the lunar
intoxicants crawled in her brain and so did the cat;
with shovel in hand, she proceeded to dig up the
dead sheriff. Moon grass and mushrooms stained the
decaying dirt.
Coffins are usually unfriendly, but not tonight. Make
no mistake about it, this is a picnic, this is an
anniversary, and it takes two plus a cat to eat the
sardines and drink the champagne.
A Beautiful Lavender Death....
I see I am the one that’s raining
death today, for it has come,
evaporating my lucid dreams of
lavender. I am the storm,
pretending, weeping with ice as the
ocean swells inside of me. Into the
deepness like a strong moon, with a
glint of blinding reflection, I am
unburdened by my frozenness, as I
stroke my own soul, and the
luminous reflection of my life
shoots moonlight towards the stars.
I am floating with the sunlight.
But in the meantime...my death turns to poetry.
“Birds no longer weep and cats no
longer creep. The old dog rustles
with his fleas, he kicks them into
the fireplace to watch them ignite;
the smart old dog grins, grins with delight.” OR
“And now solar flares of life are
but a moonless glass of freedom
with fragments of my birth. I am
just a teardrop to a shipwreck.
Perhaps my bright light was whiter
when it was alive, now its fading
glow is leaving my fingertips as I
sink below the undertow. My bones
capture the frostbite and carve me
out my perfect ghost.”
Take your pick, but I remember my
warm blood and the sun unrobing
its orange and heating up the icicle
locusts that descended down from
their frozen dollhouses. I remember
burying my hot rage into my garden
beneath the frozen roots as I
screamed; “Fuck off!” to the evil world.
As my calmness sinks into place
now, the lights are lit and the
musical stars and the jellyfish are
dancing all around the underwater
museum. A carnival of mackerel
ride the merry-go-round as my flesh
starts to harden. Groups of singing
mermaids gather my tears and store
them in sapphire glasses, hiding
them in the giant clams. Black
angel fish stand guard and redirect
the suicidal salmon that keep
jumping through my stream and
interrupting my chosen music of
death. Shouting to them, “Only the
frozen can pass through here!” As
I sink deeper and deeper into
death, the mermaids smile and
swim through my reflection,
offering me one final dance in my new death.
Crashing ships in saltwater passion,
as our black souls sink into silence.
A satisfied drunk pulls out his gun.
He swallows his heart and slowly chews
on an old scar. Cold eyes, gray moon,
a frozen field of translucent jellyfish, and
ground as hard as metal.
Graves covered in death grow fast,
when the enemy is dreaming. Bottles
of whiskey,
leftover bread, living death below
naught….don’t change my linen, I will
not cry as the mirror breaks, for I will
crash my own damn ship.
Fireplace
The green tapestry of trees fades into oblivion, as the mountains
dissolve.
Like a giant crushed Oreo cookie, dirty colors of mud and snow
blanket the hillside.
Safe from the storm in shadowy skin,
I hunker down through thick storm windows, as the white monster
attacks one hill after another, shooting its white salt from the belly of
its giant popcorn maker.
Pajama tucked in my mountain bunker, the fireplace now becomes
my companion, speaking to me as it devours my wooded crop. The
glowing illumination of the charred cedar skins from the fireplace
belches out for more as the crimson crackles.
Hissing into a wall of flames, winking with its amber eye, like Jupiter’s
hot spot; it pulls me in.
Staring into a fire raises the fire spirits.
As my skin melts to ash, I become entranced by the fire, like a
prehistoric man, listening and watching, with each crackle and pop.
I slide back into yesteryear, carbon dating my thoughts of
mankind……fire dances, eating woolly beasts, and pulling women by
the hair.
‘There is some rum in the house,’ I shout, leftover from a dead friend.
I saved it for a miserable day or the end of the world.
I slam open the wooden cabinets and yell, ‘oh yeah, there it is.’
Thinking of my dead friend, I uncork the trophy bottle and take a big
swig, and then slowly pour a few shots into my metal camping cup, a
souvenir of warmer days.
Back at the fireplace, watching it growl with its intelligence, I wave
another piece of cedar skin and tease the fire with my arsonist
behavior, asking the burning demon, ‘Do you want some more of this?’
My dog Madison, with her elongated icicle face, cuddles up on the tail
of my blanket. Melting away her winter cares, she sits by my side,
obedient and unafraid of the white monster outside. I bend over and
gently stroke her head and offer her my brandy; she answers by
backing away, and with her fire-reflective eyelids, she flicks her snake
tongue with dog determined disapproval.
I tried for a few years to save that tree and I actually dug a hole
around the base and planted some new dirt and fertilizer, my idea of
a band-aid I guess. I was warned by the Mexican tree guy, Octavio,
that someday it’s going to fall on my house, and now....
It’s chopped up dead skin of reds and yellows fade from wood to ash;
it’s kenneling my memories of summer as it smolders on.
After a few more shots of rum, I challenge the fire spirits by throwing
a shot of rum into the fireplace and as it explodes into a giant ball of
flames, I see the face of my dead friend come out through the fire,
and I tell him, thank you my dear friend for life and death, and thank
you for the rum. You were a very good friend.
Helium of Red...
Fortunately, she was hot-wired for death and that’s
what drove the cat insane. Only a fleshless death can
eat the living, as the cat captures the tiny footsteps
without a heart. Lavender feathers covered in blood,
green eyes reflect the remains of the chickadee,
cleaning teeth and claws are a daily thing. Radiant
helium of red lipstick marked the trail of her unholy
heart as she dragged the cat with her. Masterminded
her masterpiece in the gleaming moonlight with a
shovel, champagne and a cat on a leash; her ghost is
devoted to her abandoned dreams.
Releasing luminous fireflies from her eyelashes, they
light up the tombstones and show her the way, and
even though she was hotwired for death, the lunar
intoxicants crawled in her brain and so did the cat;
with shovel in hand, she proceeded to dig up the
dead sheriff. Moon grass and mushrooms stained the
decaying dirt.
Coffins are usually unfriendly, but not tonight. Make
no mistake about it, this is a picnic, this is an
anniversary, and it takes two plus a cat to eat the
sardines and drink the champagne.
A Beautiful Lavender Death....
I see I am the one that’s raining
death today, for it has come,
evaporating my lucid dreams of
lavender. I am the storm,
pretending, weeping with ice as the
ocean swells inside of me. Into the
deepness like a strong moon, with a
glint of blinding reflection, I am
unburdened by my frozenness, as I
stroke my own soul, and the
luminous reflection of my life
shoots moonlight towards the stars.
I am floating with the sunlight.
But in the meantime...my death turns to poetry.
“Birds no longer weep and cats no
longer creep. The old dog rustles
with his fleas, he kicks them into
the fireplace to watch them ignite;
the smart old dog grins, grins with delight.” OR
“And now solar flares of life are
but a moonless glass of freedom
with fragments of my birth. I am
just a teardrop to a shipwreck.
Perhaps my bright light was whiter
when it was alive, now its fading
glow is leaving my fingertips as I
sink below the undertow. My bones
capture the frostbite and carve me
out my perfect ghost.”
Take your pick, but I remember my
warm blood and the sun unrobing
its orange and heating up the icicle
locusts that descended down from
their frozen dollhouses. I remember
burying my hot rage into my garden
beneath the frozen roots as I
screamed; “Fuck off!” to the evil world.
As my calmness sinks into place
now, the lights are lit and the
musical stars and the jellyfish are
dancing all around the underwater
museum. A carnival of mackerel
ride the merry-go-round as my flesh
starts to harden. Groups of singing
mermaids gather my tears and store
them in sapphire glasses, hiding
them in the giant clams. Black
angel fish stand guard and redirect
the suicidal salmon that keep
jumping through my stream and
interrupting my chosen music of
death. Shouting to them, “Only the
frozen can pass through here!” As
I sink deeper and deeper into
death, the mermaids smile and
swim through my reflection,
offering me one final dance in my new death.
