Category: Poems

fictions, speculative dreams, and meditations

I’m New Here

The flustered and perturbed actor carefully took the mark,
squinted at the spotlight and wondered if it was flattering.

The actor opened its mouth to silence,
shook its head and tried again,
and again nothing.

The actor stood its ground—
squinting into the bright light,
opening and closing its mouth
like a degenerate goldfish.

The goldfish circled its bowl,
corkscrewing in and out of the light,
and once resigned to finding nothing
barked “Line!” at a nearby PA.

The PA stared back,
slowly and blankly.
The actor twitched in puzzlement—
that was the right one, right?

I’m new here,
it’s an act the actor
wanted to shout.

Sketchpad Honey and Fire

“If you ain’t never used your knuckles,”
the poet said,
“you ain’t never measured.”

The paper appears to be six by
I don’t know, three knuckles
I’m not paying attention.

He drew a tree,
grew tired of trees,
and it became a spaceship,

dunes under a moon,
a beautiful halting face
reminiscent of honey and fire

scorched Damned,
a multitude of us now,
quietly suffering eternal…

“Once you’ve touched god,”
the poet speaks,
“you just get weaker.”

fabulous in moonlight

A shock of brightness
followed by blurred dizziness
and the realization in plywood
lit by the autumn moon
on a clear night
through a sliding glass door.

?

I don’t think I have to go any further. There’s nothing more to say. This is it. The plywood is beautiful. PLYWOOD! == BEAUTY(!).

If you can’t get how wonderful and wondrous a proper moon makes anything…and I start gagging right there. I motion for water. I am motioning for water! No, really, I cannot say it any more clearly than that.

I gag at the thought of you not being blown away by the awe and grace of fallen plywood slumped over broken saw horses burning white through smeared glass. I gag and I can’t breathe and I need water and I motion for water.