December 2013

	December 2013 Too Bruised from the Fall The Watch for Ray Aftermath Interlopers Stillborn to Grin Walking Christmas The Chemo Limo Blinking a Geologic Day One Road to Soylent Green Rebels to the Mighty Ohm	Too Bruised from the Fall The maples cried in mottled lemon tears, a crispy mantle on these rust lit trails. The moon rose bloody, a malefic bruised tomato, a sour scowl in a hungover sky. As I crested the rise, farms spread naked beyond me, turned over, churned under, exploited, their eyes hollow, empty, too bruised from their fall.
The Watch for Ray They rose silent, each stepping in the whispers of the other. He would die today. I watched the van come and go, twice and again… one occupant - as she remained with her father. Dutiful daughter, they sleep - in wet flannel fits all of their lights gone out.	Aftermath This sky is scalded, most oxygen consumed, ignited by recklessness, fed by pride. These is only ruin in the air, acrid plumes where the words fell, where the slates were scoured clean. Who does that? Who takes out an entire country of time? Who destroys such a lovely sky?	Interlopers Time gnashing, rifling my cellular folders, stirring my memory’s trash. I felt those teeth today, the breeze of them, jaws snapping at my heels, holding me hostage in puddles, in windows as I looked down and away. Wind, puling, rifling my bones, spitting dust to talk to old shadows. I felt that wind today… countless prying fingers peeling back the years, pushing me to the crossroad to turn and face its fetid teeth, taunting, daring me to choose the wrong way.
Stillborn to Grin in those moments we lingered, near to bursting, grinning, a-tremble, pregnant with words never birthed. ‘Another 6 A.M. on the 405. A disabled vehicle at the Franklin. A small bender at the Hawkin pass.’ I kissed you knowing the ‘speak’ on your lips, the luscious buzzing, sparks raced to murmur and sizzle in our loins. ‘Take Tideman from Memphis to avoid construction on Loraine. ‘a disabled bus on Pearl.’’ I kissed you watching the stir in your eyes, the blush of the wow… as it splashed across my face. In those moments we lingered, deep remains of our passage fused with the deep winter snows. Now, but a spent winter smile - gasping as I claw for you in the blister of hiss of this last summer grass.	Walking Christmas I’ll walk this Christmas on a strand of beach, moments shared with you my absent friend. I’ll hope the temperature is kind this year, that the winds are more relaxed, that I’ve time for me with me and you. I’ll walk this Christmas on a trail of smiles. I’ll pretend so many many things. I’ll wish you were here, but maybe…, maybe next year will be our Silver Bells! You’ll walk this Christmas in my heart. You can’t stop me I promise, I guarantee it. No matter how hard you try.	The Chemo Limo In the Chemo Limo 18K IVs ,winking in the sun tarnished silver spears, 16 gauge Sys-platin(um) and saline to course in ruby veins. The leather is the finest, Armor-All’ed, Skin So Soft oiled to ooze its very best, to cradle our wounds. I’m in the Chemo Limo, my thanks to my Russian Doll. for the images, and the soft erotic jive, for the roulette clatter, the primo #9 ride. The Lazyboy is just right, Metallica shredding in my buds, the poison running cool in my veins. I’m in the Chemo Limo. Where nobody loses. Everybody RIDES! Thanks to the muse of Regina Spektor
Blinking a Geologic Day I walked into these canyons never grasping their uniqueness. The infinite was everywhere. In each shape and textured ridge, in the contours of sound. From my breath and footfall. I understood reverence for only the second time. One can not but be humbled by this, the nuance, the scale, the time, the amazing light giving out to plum and lapis shadow. It seems to defy all the rules. I think of Mars and my mind’s jaw falls, of the canyons there that reduce this to a scratch. I’ve walked into these canyons and yet I never have. I can touch so little in this scant flicker of life. I can not touch this land as the waters have, nor can I see it as time has had it way with the stone. I can only reach. I can only blink a geologic day.	One Road to Soylent Green Probed and tweaked, scanned and scoped. Swabbed and pricked, Swan-Ganzed and doped. Biopsied and plucked Tissues stained, and streaked. Specimens prepared, dissected, sliced, and tweaked. Numbered and sequestered, dehumanized and banded. Fodder for the system, barcoded, sterilized, boxed and remanded.	Rebels to the Mighty Ohm The offshore sky is a bone white strobe, Lightning, corn-popping from cloud to cloud, and back to the sea. like a disco for The Currents, Frankie Stein and the Volts. Plumes of gray cotton passing pent up ideas? A neural soup of polarity and rain. Every year there is a night or two when the skies hold power-court, blue white branches scattering chaos, St. Elmo ready with fire, exposed nerves in a St. Vitus dance. Great wizards at battle, wand to wand, ‘Viva la resistance!’ Rebels of the mighty Ohm.