Friday, October 25, 2013
Like a firefly flirting
with an outlet,
the incandescent hope
beckons, draws me
barefooted across cold
linoleum toward a place
I know is there
but can not clearly see.
Call it a destination,
a goal, a mission,
or by necessity,
Like the ocean's floor,
a murky path will be stirred
by ten evanescent tentacles.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Friday, October 11, 2013
Annubis next door, barking all night.
The neighbor embalming himself.
Who knows who will live forever.
Early morning I’m ripping plywood,
hammering asphalt shingles into place
one by one, keeping the rain out
of my temple, slave to my own industry,
still pissed off by that lazy dog,
thinking again with my heart.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Pounded thin enough,
the tin, tantalum, and tungsten,
are the sledges of the bells, bells, bells,
of the ringtones and vibrations
calling us to our cellphones.
Hear a cacophony of bullets and screams,
a history of atrocities at our fingertips,
a hard-to-trace serial number etched
in blood, thugbeat of the Congo.