Category Archives: Poems

High clues man.

Is it Halloween already?

I walked to the store as the sun burned the scruff of my neck
A little girl applauded my progress from the balcony
She asked if it was far to walk to buy some peaches
It was not.

The peach tasted so sweet to my lips, and I wished to be enveloped by other things so sweet, but those times never come.

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Sweet, Sweet, Sweet, Sun Castles

Saturate me with your saffron laser
Taze the air chills from my kidneys
Warm my armored skin in kind
As you do when you etch the gleam
On every particular speck of time!

When I found your etiolated skull
With giant X’s instead of eyes
I smelled the soup of your broken shell
And pleaded that the waves transport you
To the sun castle hidden hind the night sigh.

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Oriental Expression

Hear me speak shallow dogs and children of the corners!
A crisp bolt of lightning will strike an artesian oak
that marks the center of gravity in the proximate cyprus swamp
next tuesday at 7:02 pm.

Wind beaten branches had been placed in its worldworn tower
to create the home of an eagle, graven upon a gold dollar,
with fledglings having brought their birth on the prior sunrise.

There was something in the smell of smoke that was intransient.

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Ist Wie Der Wind

Across, in all its waxing presence, developed a seagreen corona of salinity.
How could it do anything, when it was scintillating alone onto a sere mountainside?
Thirsting Astraea, you must look towards the ocean built beaches to see your blind beatitudes!

There in the drowned grasses lied a secret eel, one that told me to swim closer.

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Los Gallos, Los Ojos

The shrieks of the ghost jar the mountainside from its slumber.
Feathered and soulless they fear the rays of sunlight will burn the eyes from their skulls.
Though they have no issue clawing at each other’s, it is in blindness they cannot reside.

But despite it all lines of crimson, lilac and gold stream sideways from the enormous anvil before me, depositing beauty in the morning sky.

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Colonels and Valentines

J. and her son arrived with an upper caste K, wearing ballcaps and tall,
Saw the laboriously torn letters, a cross on the floor,
Smiled the guitar and stopped the bleeding artists from hardening into
    apples left to sit alone in a closet for months
    without the possibility of contriving of he, Leo.

I was drunk on Goliath, for I am no David, but boy howdy I had a good time.

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Comment Spam

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Second Life

It could be that the hair on our head will melt,
our stomach will become sere by the sun and shrivel,
and all of the blood in our heart get shoveled and smoked into they sky.

Or we could log into a dumb terminal and slay DOS based text dragons from the world.

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El Jimador

The sobriquet of animal nature
came storming down to awaken me
on a cold evening in December.

The Virgin Mary was born and
the olympic runners carried her flames
without their bodies to a new pavilion.

It felt like the sojourn was not at an end
when too many voices from Barton Fink
were marauding me with arrows.

Black diamond stairs sucked me into a fan cooled cave
and I could not be there and walked out for a tattoo.

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Economic Opportunity Costs

A mighty spearman transcendent from blue holes held me in esteem
and gave oil free shells, one of which was a teardrop from a little baby laughing,
and showed me a bottle drunk by aghost from Pittsburgh.

We ascended to heaven together, but he made it further.

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