pohmz extndd

cloud
alone in my bed
shimmering like still, cool shade
treading water under moonlight.
Images float heavy like postage stamps
on the envelope of a memorized letter.
barely breathing;
alive until eyes flutter reluctantly open.

putrid nozzle
and how we wore those
stupefied masks like
badges over our hearts;
like scars atop our veins.

Proper Princes of Dark Domains
Are those
deep sea, amphibious
souls more alive
or self-gratifying
than their brothers
and sisters, impostors
and self-sufficient
fishes of our society?
For they cast their
own light, and it is so notable.
So very admirable. These
glowing, flashing and just as instantly
as they were sent flooding through
dense waters, disappearing subterranean
streetlights - could they be a golden
cane wrapped in decorative, holiday paper?
Is simplicity their statement - and if this is so,
why do they glimmer to confuse and ward off
predators - those who cannot swim but stand on
varying limbs, thousands no billions of subtle, invisible,
and oh so many proud and irrelevant and universally banal
painted landscapes. Weathered and carved and balancing
topsy-turvy curvy monsters which we are all expected
to exist in harmony with atwixt razor-sharp tree branches and fate.
These inescapable bed-time short story heroes, villains and
victims,
They are, despite the light and its purpose,
attracted intrigued and provoked by thought
to analyze
That which could be, in the broad spectrum
of things, and not dismally but maybe so,
nothing at all.
An attraction which is not conceivably welcomed
nor pardoned - simply kept buried beneath
reflections of sunsets, various birds, moons stars
and for that matter cars, cigarettes and if you
can picture it auditory diarrhea (garbage)
as a fuck you, bold underlined italicized and
colored blue, yellow, green, red and black.
I do apologize, however not withdraw, the
Word and WordPerfect-esque assumed snarl
'cause they are not my street signs to post.
I do not live in this
dark neighborhood of perfect archetype
drug-induced technicolor. It just so happens
that the aforementioned dream and mutual love-like
alley is not
for me
to swim in.


Deux 2 Tango
What do I see?
Self-awareness, admitted ignorance
Brilliance like opal
Sitting comfortably in my pocket.
The sound of ballpoint
Bringing to life a secret society
one that no one of us will ever enter.
Head bobbing and hand gliding across
the page that was,
just moments ago,
empty and loud and so many other
adjectives, maybe lonely but surely not to be wasted.
Thoughts, invisible, churn inside
carbon and its associates.
Single words if they could hover
like halos over our brows
would spontaneously and momentarily
become tangled in midair.
Even more amazingly, this phenomenon
would unfold above us, we, so unknowingly,
dance with spirits of introspection,
spilling like water bottles and coffee cups.
A shortage of ink did separate these
innocent incantations of our minds, until personal
nature runs its course, and sounds of paper pen and poetry
commence.

Milton Mothberg's Loss of Innocence
Why does the insect seek the light so fervently?
does it represent some distant, possibly unattainable
source of warmth? or is it such?
perhaps the light is an escape from the cold earth;
and when he shows his avarice,
he might (you may see him) fly about, rapidly making
brutal contact with a wall or any nearby surface.
has he realized that the light, so hallowed and
subject to a hefty list of promises in his bug world
is not much more than a glowing hollow chamber
of emptiness? does he see it for what it is?
the slamming of his small body into disappointing
frigid sporadic selections of siding and metal
and wood could be, in response to this realization,
an attempt at suicide.
it is possible that each light we see -
streetlights, bedroom windows protected by screens,
car lights, lamps, et cetera
is a haven for lost insect souls of new found emptiness.
and- and, and, and - if our human ears could manage it -
that is, manage to listen ... we might hear shrill, trembling
cries of despair and hatred, damning the insects in
power and cushioned shaded seats. insects self-righteous and proud, insects who
know their fate and question absolutely nothing.

Anchored Deeply
and my eyes did jiggle
horizontally.
i thought it was
almost frantically,
momentarily.
but it's okay.
they'll run on top
and around you
maybe in circles,
you know, i don't mind.
when warm vines have
captured me, i surrender,
and great scott i love it.
i wonder now, you think
a lot - but you think nothing of it.
hush, taciturn the warm
will be, it should but i wish
it wouldn't stay.
tumble down a small
black neon hole
gravity here it plays hardball.
enjoy the rest of your night.

Nw Tt Mg Fm Gg
no longer devoid of law
is this mine-field of volcanoes
that spill tears
and force quick changes
of position
like a cool handgun pressed to a
startled innocent.
trenches
also like foxholes
with beauty not yet realized
should eyes desperately sought
remain at one with the sea.

6yh8033gh3586h35gh8sh89e'ey5

hug
in your old, old nightgown i cause you to flinch and turn away
i'm screaming now
moments ago i was pleading
as if for my life
because the neighbors will hear
fuck the neighbors
i'm tired of listening
to your shrill cries
of bloody murder
and voodoo
upon wrinkles and
twinkles that make me
smile and shrivel inside
with grief and woe
for what is to come.
please relax and go to bed
before all three of us
have heart attacks
then i wouldn't
cry for any of us.

more.

soaring at low altitudes
i still think about you sometimes;
when the reels of my mind start to turn on rewind.
i find that you may still be lost,
the cost, of my caring so daring was grave.
you're the archetype fairytale princess i'll never save.
but i'll carry my compassion 'til it fades from red to gray.
someday, far too far in the future
for even pithy words to say -
or for this song to play and stray away.
away, away, away.
there are too many things that i have to say;
away, away, away.
have been these thoughts for some time
until today, i decide to say -
that there's no peace for a lover choosing to quietly keep
away, away, away.
and my memories are gone not too soon before i decay.

jeez

it's been awhile.

Mr. Kelly Nicholson

if i should be wronged,
to stare a stale wound 'til it scars with time
would i choose the path of vengeance
or forgive a paw made lame of mine?
would i chain the swam to the Earth, so damp,
commanding her sweet eyes
fixed
upon her duckling, fleeing in terror
from my hedonistic guise
Red by a pack of ferocious hounds
closing the distance to tear this
feathered fiend
to shreds
A child who shivered but dared not cry
From there would I be pacified?
or burdened a crimson mind?
to understand is to stray.
eyes on the clock:
relish each minute like wine.