POETRY

Adorning The Hood

My Car Unravels Itself

It is Greedy for Food.
It takes me for a Ride.

It Thinks Bigger and Bolder than I do.
It Drives me Home.
It takes orders and obeys
without a Hitch.

My Car unravels itself.
There are Millions on the Planet
They move like Ants
They eat the Air.

I am enthralled with Arriving Somewhere
before I leave the House.
I am young and Testosterone-Laden
I will win the Race Home.
Dead in my Silver Casket.
Buried in  my Prayer on Wheels.

There is an Iceberg that Sighs
somewhere in the Lost Arctic Sun.
There is a Polar Bear that Dies
In the Arms of No One’s Mother.

There is a Surprise Waiting for Humanity
Sooner than a Solar Storm,
Sure as the Arctic Bear
A Crash Course with
The Infinite
the Real
Heat.

My Car Loves Itself

Will Born ~ Shall Die

THE BOX CALLED “STOP”

WE are Men and Machines.
WE know how to Start, but never learned the STOPPING.

The STOPPING Mechanism.
The Little Black Box.

The Box called STOP.

STOP the Box.

BOX the Stop.

Jingle Bells
We go as Plaid Men;
Riding in Twisted Cargo
Smoking Cigars on a Green Fern Embargo.
We rise for the Sun & Decay in the Dawn
our Faces are Strawberries; our Fingers are Gone

We go as Plaid Men, we rise up as Nuns
we cave in as Children, Lovers, Cinnamon Buns
There is nothing to Stop us, We’re never in Heat;
We shave our sweet faces and swallow Burnt Meat
Our sisters before us have Salvaged the Road,
The Innocent meet Strangers, the Silver buys Gold.
The Dawn of Intention, heals the midnight Decay;
We go as Plaid Men
as Housewives we stay.

Jingle Bells
Sing our Moments’ Repent
The Serpent sinks in Leather
The Kitchen Water is Spent
The Dollar is Sideways,
A coin in the Lock
The Only Key we could Turn
was the Face of the Clock

We go as Plaid Men
Twisted in Corks
we sing our songs sideways
and eat Knives & Forks
The song that we Knew
is the one we Forgot
as the Ancient of Mariners
Drowns at the bottom of the Pot

Big Soul in Small Shoes

Difficult Dust
I am a Single Poem
Prone to Rust
I am a Rotting and Fragrant Fruit
On your Tree of Souls
A clean and fluffy Laundry Item
on the Great Clothesline of the Sky
Washed once, Washed twice
Hung out to Dry
An Ace of Hearts, a Throw of the Dice
A river of Intent – a Jacuzzi of Ice
I’m all over the Map, looking for Home
Head in the Stars, worn to the Bone
I’m not going Far
A throw of the Stone
Difficult Dust
Single Poem
Prone to Rust
On the way Home.

The Indelible Orange of You

Indelible Moonscapes
Places we travel; things we know

the Insatiable Juice of the Orange of You.
parading in all of its Fine Contempt

Contempt for things worldly
contempt for the unbending Finger of Time
contempt for the abrasiveness of Modern Man

We seek the softness of things that Fly
Things that Know their Home, their Righteous Country
their Place of Birth.

We seek the Meal that Satisfies
the Unquenched Caverns in the Labyrinth of Heartland
the Taste of the Delicate & Informed
Lessons of love.

The Wheel that Turns
the Time that Goes
the Tiny Hand
that paints the spiral Heavens
of the inner Canvas
that grows
and grows
and grows.