If Time needs

a barber

we are the knife...

Cutting close

at the stubble

though our aim

may seem subtle!

...We'll turn back these

Grand Daddy hands,

with fervent amour!

...running in and out

of our own

Time loop...

Saving seconds

at the family store,

off Ol' Shaver road

We got the best

swivel seats, baby

that Papa O'Clock  

ever did know!

360...

an old Cop 

on the beat 

was bit with

curiousity

checking out

our Mom n' Pop shop

and couldn't find

a hair misplaced,

or going out of style!

...It made him feel he

may have missed a trick,

so he headed home to bed immediately...

...He was gone by morning,

they said he had bled out

overnight...

Momma Terra's

so handy now

with her razor,

that every person smiles...

...She caught us on the

upswing with both her

steady well-versed hands

We're still slicing through

the bolts and wires

in this coffin of lost hours...

No one's watched how to freeze

the gears of time,

though they've muted it's death rattle

so the people in the stands don't know

stench of catastrophic cattle...

Rotting in this pasture field...

Aching if we all conceal

every card forevermore...

Time needs shearing...

On all fours,

begging for a righteous tanning

'fore it shambles off to die.

Twilight of the Murdered Many...

Eyes pick roses from night sky.

©

Bunny and

Mavia Villaire

8/20/20

Tearing across a dewy lawn

a baby squirrel flies like lightening

up a thick monster of oak,

and evacuates another

dust-bunny sized squirrel

from his supposed claim

as the sun bleeds down through

the branches...

...I hear the disposed squirrel

chitter back at the squirrel at the top

of the tree in anger,

as the victor chitters back his way,

sounding like he's laughing,

and for some reason

my mind goes flying,

and I'm off on another tangent,

wandering deep through the wet muck,

shaking my cans together

'til this slot in time's

unstuck...

Are we biting at each other heels?...

Why do we care when a birthdate slides by,

and the presents aren't forthcoming

from the people who would matter least?...

...Or even if they do matter,

where does this expectation rise from?...

It's like poor people dressing up

to impress the rich

who never look their way,

except to say,

"Good, they're occupied..."

There's a desire for status,

to be a King of something static...

We buy the gleaming products,

or respond out of some panic

to the political agenda

of the day...

"Which side are you on?..."

Fighting for our right

to bitch into a thick fog mist!...

...If we really knew the score

would we still carry this insistence

to have all flagrant voices heard

for no clear reason but the sound...

"Hear that echo in the park?...

...It's getting louder...

Something's swelling..."

I want my head to stop it's bell,

But there's a reason I've been ringing...

Need to reach or breach a bank

where there is fewer words, I think...

...Give it a rest...

Take it to bed...

We must remove ourselves

from morass.

Hearing the squirrels chitter build

out of that bush

where it's been damned...

...To be condemned is not so bad,

as long as we have time to sit

and lick old wounds,

ponder our selves...

Whatever gives me back

my voice.

©

8/18/20

Bunny Villaire

The night is riding in

just around the hill

we hear the clattering

where a flag is waving

in the wind...

a lady’s handkerchief

within the romance 

of the moment

so resplendid that we sing!

children of the village

holding lanterns up

for the thrill...

all is changing

all is changed

all is change

our hearts 

still palpitating

What will surface in this night?

From the black ink below the bridge

That dips and dives

Drawing secrets down,

down into it’s elusive fold

To be translated by that shadow on our backs…

The night flowers are blushing,

And pungent…

A ghost hollers up to us from

Davey Jones locker…

A whole host of fireflies

Comes alive and lights our way,

So that for an instant we can vaguely attempt

To re-trace lost steps and fall back 

Into the mad ranks of the nature scene…

…Still straining to see with hungry eyes that hear!

all is changing

all is changed

all is change

and we

are pocketing it

© Aug 14, 2020

Bunny Villaire

Mavia Villaire

Crimson fire flecks my wrist...

I, an estranged prisoner of whims

is out here on a limb

with barely a cloth to cover swinging nuts and berries...

The Magician’s list of countless admirers has become

a mad riot like a swarm of bees where something sinister

floats above the night-time branches

in the woods where trees

take second chances, and remain in the

humble presence of aloof mad men...

These woods are haunted by forgotten murders,

and fractured panes of glass slide in my bleeding gaps...

...Forgive me while I ask

how and when you came to fall upon

this paralyzed state

where your knees shake, and shutter from the inside?...

The nightly winds come home to taunt you

with their fierce, unrelentless hiss

to crack a gaze into the swirling

snake-pit of pragmitism...

A pained face in the reflected blue

confesses to itself while the winding road

of worry lines cast a shadow

like a road sign lurching up

from the highway

on a night

spent horrendously

in a barely waking state...

Crimson fire flecks my wrist!...

Inhaling karma traces

from the confines of your gas chamber,

unbeknowst to none...

Your eyes close off, and you become

an iron lung...

A chimney with a drooping chalice...

A nap-sack slung over a shoulder with a helpless sway...

Tonight I burn from worlds astray that pile near a

swelling dumpster, striving in their elegant invisiblity

to be seen and heard,

or even tripped over by some stupid wasted fucking asshole;

as we miss the boat, and endless road obstructions

to return to what has long existed

’neath our toes that taste the grass with eager straws

caressing nectar of the Gods.

©

7/28/20

Bunny Villaire

Edit #2

Up high, from tree to tree

like Tarzan,

on a rope that someone

torched...

Are we swinging into death?...

...Burning hedges

'til all evidence is gone...

Wise minds from the abyss

are swallowed up

like a Hershey Kiss.

I see a boy mopping a blackboard

Long before the words are taught,

and absorbed through hungry pores...

...Loading bullets in our slots.

Are we plunging into peril?...

Is the concrete parking lot

like a jungle

that we're lost in?...

Has our sweetness gone to rot...

...Left too long on careless

windows?...

Feeling something's been misplaced...

I am standing,

arms akimbo,

staring down at rising

waste,

while the bleeding hearts

attest that

they are slaving through

the night

to avenge, and free our planet...

unshackling us from our plight.

There's only now, as future comes

too late to make a change...

Despite the fears we hold inside,

we all must lift the page,

and dive into this living fire;

each day times set our stage.

©

7/24/20

Bunny Villaire

Random fire drives by,

pinches me by the sleeve...

Blood escapes from black spaces

unfathomed,

on the course to attention,

as I hustle and weave...

Keep heart-beat with my leg!...

Shaking shots up and down,

’til the night clicks it’s switch,

coming on like a twitch,

as it fits like a cast

over pockets of space...

...Hollow vacancy waits,

with those stars in my sky,

to become in it’s folding...

Like a finger that’s scolding

flying up, flying down!...

Getting stuck in my sound...

Bullet terror...Keep on!...

Never long in this world...

Being pressured too long...

Locking lips with dead birds

when the beat goes unheard,

while the herd closes in...

Random fire drives by,

pinches me by the sleeve!...

Blood escapes from black places

unfathomed,

on the course to attention,

as I hustle and weave...

...As I hustle and weave

over houses and trees,

with the wind and the clouds

’til my spirits retrieved.

©

7/21/20

Bunny Villaire

I can hear you humming that song,

thumping your feet as you tap along.

Your eyes alive as you smile wide,

you come and hug me from behind.

We dance together your heart and mine,

You bellow the lyrics, butchering each line.

And now as the same song plays in this shop,

I don't want it to stop,

because the harder I try to hold on to each detail,

my memory of you has begun to fade.

I close my eyes and try to see you as you've been,

but the song stops playing more quickly than I can,

and when I looked again,

you were gone.