Act of Silence
Sometimes the undertow swallows you deep
Makes you feel strong tugs at your feet
Sometimes a razor blade stops you from bleeding
makes you feel sleepy
makes you hear pretty peaceful strums 'til sirens come and then silence.
When all the perverts and parasites shrink
dry up and die
step on outside
breath in the toxins that keep you alive
kept you from trying made you deny
your sacred hell imprisoned cell of silence.
Swimming from soundless dreams streams of the past
a hurdle, a curse, thriving to last Completing so timely the end of the act, the curtain has closed, the blood has turned black, now face the crowd and take a bow before silence.
Ringing and singing it’s hard to ignore
the tapping of feet, a knock at the door
Crying of baby like never before
Ears become tuned
no more to ruin
Smells so foul and scowls have swelled into silence.
Don't look down and end the act of silence.
The Legend of Lizzi Potts
Lizzi Potts and forget-me-nots,
she never knows where to find them
Lizzi Potts keeps lizards and hops in bottles for buzzards and blind hens
Lizzie Potts follows the dots and dabbles in tongue-twisting woes
Lizzi Potts is ridden with clots with clumpy fingers and toes
Lizzi Potts babbles and gawks, soaking up sun as she goads.
Lizzie Potts forgets she's not a human, she's a toad.
Eternal Calligraphy -For Lakota Starling
Something more than my mind
Inside, a guide defines a path no longer
A possibility magnet.
New strength fed from the depths of my speech,
Anchored and barren in my belly, glowing;
Constructed by thought alone:
Light shines heavy on the peaks of parchment paper crevasses,
Shedding dust and dull relief, binding lustrous, looping ink.
Mountains made of pulp and leaves,
Rivers hardly seen...
Topographic lines and dashes,
Speckled rings, flowering.
This is where it never ends--
This paper, I made for You.
Of anything I can say,
If only once and always:
To stay Yours,
To nurture and to teach
Absolute and true
Reflection of Your youth and beauty,
Twirling under the moon and relished
Until the day
You're reading it to Yourself.
The Wolf’s Cry
Wrapped up in thoughts of missed opportunities,
He leaves his mind to wander into the undone.
Drippings of dew on his winter coat and embers.
Blood, still fragrant, makes him remember
He's the Brave Hero
He's the one.
Next time, he'll be more ready and steady.
This is what made him hard;
The sharpness of the air
The power in his flesh
His steam, arizing after the fight,
Breathing deep, he licks the thought clean,
"I'm the one feared within, all around."
He points his nose to the dawning sky
And cries a cry, waning with muscial resolve.