Brand "X" , and ACME, poems and stories. Surreal, sappy, funny, horrific, and human.
Refuse in the oceans. God's things caught in its mire. In a come-lately penance, I think of small atonements, futile fixes. If a poem had power, had sway, or could be born of a prophet, sleep might come more easily. Still, I count the sheep of days, the fish in a river's flow... *** image:... Continue Reading →
Endings today- A small thing, as if hit, flails its last on the hot roadway, its doubtful heart and kicking legs wanting only to run, to run. And I have done murder, my mower surprising some bees and fledgling frogs who wanted only sweetness and shade. This grass will grow now. *** image credit: https://pixabay.com/users/thomaswolter-92511/
I have threads, vignettes. Some fleshed out. Others at loose ends. This unseemly train has lost its brakes- can't stop at ancient stations. Those sad confreres are left stranded, waving. *** image credit: https://pixabay.com/users/sjb3949-533112/
Were I to gatherthe rarest of woods,matchsticks in multitude,and vintage amber lac,I would set to the building of that Strad,its secrets laid bare by an angel. And in its voice would be your intonations.And in its resonance, the beat of your living heart. *** Photo: Eastman Strings
When I was alive, you quickened in bright crimsons. When I was alive. (Image: Wasan Tita/Shutterstock)
Secret and silent- the cold crackle of air with soft sparkles of gamma. Opens my garage, changes my channels, excites the pocket monolith. Away I want, I think. Away. [Image credit: https://pixabay.com/users/analogicus-8164369/ ]
Being too-long hesitantto mount the stepsmakes one grow slipper-bound,complacent in regret's denial.Greenish in huefrom watching the passers-by take to flight. *** Image: https://pixabay.com/users/geralt-9301/
At some days' end, I feel as if I have stepped my last- propping up this frame, these unpadded shoulders, boned as a scarecrow. Dithering with the primal thoughts of a child. Open-armed, palms in supplication. I bow down, I do. Image: pixabay.com
In those daysthere were bedsheet flags,wooden swords,bobby pin rifles.Our breathless legions in shabby Keds.Shoe boxes full of bubblegum cards,fluffy-edged from brick wall flingings.Tennis balls with fluff long gone,and pockets full of marble prizes. And, in tumbling years,I knew a kid who sniffed acetone.He had no Dad, but had a gun.Called his mum a crazy bastard,and... Continue Reading →
One's been too many years in the building, and what it shields may have lost its worth. The other, I hold onto, as I walk, in secret regret.
AreMyFeetOffTheGround 