Mark Of the Fawns

Stained holy the color
A throne for august queen
This vale of hearth
My elegant womb

Les Petites Morts vs Les Grande Peurs

In a society where nip slips and partial brief nudity
Are more taboo than drones dropping bombs in Syria

Solvitur Ambulando

This is my journey
To this goddamn place
I pace just behind the edge
Or at least what’s left of me
This, my purgatory
My paradox
My gathering
My reckoning

The Staggering Marionette

If my poems had lips they would hide in your pout like secret honey
A whispered cache of melody dripping away in a sea of awkward noise

Born Shy

I live on the wrong glassy frosted frame side
Of a Norman Rockwell doctor visit painting
And the museum security staff roping it off

Armistice

Work is just a nervous glance, and a .357 under the desk
And the wafting smoke snaking out from bosses’ mouths
Memorialize this armistice between slave and charioteer
Between the elite few riding and the multitudes run down

It’s Not All Doom And Gloom

Cops push out addicts
Living under bridges
Then talk them down
From jumping off them
Suicide rates are jumping
But it’s not all bad news
At least the stock market
Reached another high

Good News

She fell upon my hardcover
book on the lives of caterpillars
from a wispy cedar tree burl
I scared away an excited robin
and some boys with fishing poles
I watched her crawl back and forth
doing a 50 leg two step on my arm

The Pendulum

As above
So below

As is love
So is hell

As is ritual
So is chaos

As is truth
So is masked

As is beauty
So is plastic

No. 13

They are onto us so let’s hide away
Inside hidden fox-holed motel floors
Intentionally mislabeled as room 14’s
We can take respite inside conch shells
And spiraling sunflower inflorescence