a new poem, then,
without tangle
or predecessor
a true poem
born now as
mosquitoes bite
and sweat beads
and I’m not thinking of you
before the sun slips down
breathless and weightless
our story played out
against the night sky
I can’t help slipping into it
it’s a natural law here
momentum, inertia,
trajectories too expensive to alter
the moments sweep past
you and you and you
against the sky
a prologue, then, or epilogue
Category: Poems
fictions, speculative dreams, and meditations
Saturn, My Love
Your love is plumb round
The planet from you
And you got water to collect
For Earth, they ran through
Their supply allotment
Long time ago
And it’s on you
And your love is plumb round
The planet
Also collecting water
For home.
But no one thinks about love
As they dismantle the Jewel.
Communion
Introduction
Dronecast Episode 19Main Content
“Stop! You must curtail your bizarre behavior,”
says the man with the stick,
“You really must,” he says
adjusting his hat.
But, he’s not talking to me,
he’s talking to the creature we become—
in the stretch back to the first realm.
“Adjust behavior and commiserate elsewhere,”
says the fat man
“You really must,” he says
poking the creature’s chest.
The creature, call us Communion,
howls indignant turns back to the wall—
string dangling from our slippery hands.
“Non-compliance is unacceptable,”
shouts the rigid man,
“Unacceptable and you must stop,” he shouts
and we pay em no mind
We are disconnected from that world,
there is only blood here and glue and string—
this creation nothing else.
Send More Agony!
“Thanks for the bliss,
send more agony!”
the merry one cried
stumbling into place
along side the junkies
looking for their muse.
You remember
Main Content
The cold measured cuts
of your nightmares are real.
It’s true.
When you could no longer torture
yourself, you turned the blade on me.
I went down in the surprise round.
You waited for me to come to
and flipped me over,
and made me watch
your blade’s slow agony
sweep and slice and spin
through your deadly whispers.
You took breaks with girlish laughter,
And unrestrained joy.
They’re always so short.
When you return you
catch my eyes
and bow low
slowly
sweeping the blade.
And you raise
slower still,
holding my gaze
and lurch
pinpoint,
a clean kill.
That happened.
You did that.
It’s true.
You tortured
And you killed
Deliberately.
You pretend the charnel ground doesn’t exist;
It’s unsightly and filled with dark secrets.
Endnotes
Note
I may have jumped the gun in this one. It's changing fast. Faster than readers can cope with—they'll be various versions of this floating around now.
It came about because I want to write the bubble bath series, but to make it worth while I'll need to spread it out so I can better test the code.
Then I got excited by a couple lines, and couldn't not scribble and scribble.
And then technical issues happened, and I was faced with publishing or loosing. So yeah, a lot of things came together causing this premature birth. It's gonna be hit and miss for a while.
I'm still trying to figure out if it's a poem or a story or a letter from the frontline.