the train in the microcosm – II

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as the clicking of trick heels

beckons the seconds

low and leery

near and importune

but of no importance

placed between delicate delicacies

that slide down sweet

and push up daisies

dazed and stored

in numbing stories

flowing faster into the face

like velvet fingertips

upturning a trace

trained to play

light on the lips

sleek and shallow swallowed down

with intoxicated whimsy

thin merits drown

deep in need

knee-deep indeed

and tripping on epitaphs

of brazen imbuement

cut along line graphs

and pie charts

shy parts consent

but who will ring the bell?

or whistle blow?

when we can tell

implicit arrival

placated well

pushing us past into the blue

yonder shores avexed

where cognates once grew

in separate grounds

one after the next

“Don’t stop me now, dear truth.”

‘wouldn’t if I could’

but wonder if I should’

“Less talk will prove the sooth.”

rattles back the ties in the track

 

 


 

the train in the microcosm – I

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whistles and synthetic sighs

ring and chirp out buttery lies

of noisy fumes beside my fears

which fill my ears

and plug my eyes

abducting my sensation

bleeding out all lines of motivation

save a single chain

linked into my brain

those images in a nation

that draw me in with sound

drawn out with cringes crowned

and kicks my knees

to trip with ease

and trap with further footstep found

in given retrograde

alas poor Yoric never made

as foolish act as mine

who choked upon the line

that sought to seek but never stayed

to see the consequences

of loving through those glassy fences

masked with words and moving pictures

shocks to still our fragile fixtures

prodding providences

to inordinately thin delight

whose plastic padding holds the night

in smothering embrace

with breath withheld for heart to race

within this silent space

withall this pleasant plight

on it tracks a tempered tune

of softened steel pull too soon

from tongues that sought to lick it clean

and breathe on it a sheen

presented as a boon

to harness hollowed tendencies

whose disarray brings to my knees

a wholly desperate desire

to hold into the fire

these pale pleasantries

that sing the song of all the other

sticky wisps that seek to smother

facets shaped and shined for dreaming

life inside the gleaming

singing on of yet another


 

Black Friday

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Sackcloth come and cover the sun

pushover that temporal axis

as the worst of us push through market lines

and the best of us lay in boxes

the light snuffed out

our hearts lament without a voice

our hands push on without a choice

our heads are scattered thick with doubt

 

Pale grey eyes and stony faces

searching for strength to endure

this night that chokes our dry stung eyes

and melts away calm demeanors

flow my tears flow

three tear stains stand bearing his blood

three more adopted by his love

three dollars to carry him home

 

Streams of strangers fill this space

washing us with their tears

spanning across the memories lost

in waves flowing over the years

push through this night

each one standing in a row

each with heavy hearts below

each eye of trembling tear-brushed sight

 

Heavy lies above us the skies

with our pillar fallen away

whose shelter we had cradled under

and under his shadow would play

the world falls through

we brace ourselves for the unknown

we cling together seeking home

we cannot silence missing you

 

– in loving memory of Dad

The Emblem (from Blackbirds)

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Green was the world that we once shared in times of Brown and Grey

the One who left the Golden Sun consigned to depths of Blue her aim cut through the tides the same in mind

and shadows starved the faceless madness blind which once bled through but left her there within the cleft in kind

no penalty but fate opened the same deep scales set even in pride he rent the earth to hide his shame

to take a chance at life and stake a claim quelling questions and chained in faith to lose or gain a name

and drowning out through waves which whelm above in raves of red a brackish throne beneath his blackened head

around enclosed in currents sound he wed resigned to take the hand they find that fled images in

mirrors that show the faces long unknown to tend the curse set in the hand to purse to rend

and purge his visage before surging mend the appointed and one along at last to come and end

the fallen reign that coos in call the free vessel of the turning pillars backward burning three

redemptions

leaving one bereft of weaving born and buried torn and tattered down and worn in

baleful heaving pantomimes of grieving morning held afar adorning

pride against the mounting tide and rending face to keep from tending

beautiful hide from stony form abiding sending taunts that have no ending

built with shining steel hilt broken as a sacred token and

bending tilting over bloodstains spilt awoken with the message spoken

there into the darkness fair in seething torrents underneath

the waves

increasing vacancies where a sinner had once been

aghast and made to cast glowing laments to shelter all themselves

from pasts in which their masks pay well to halt the bells

that tease and subtly seize beginning hides the kin with

their full share beneath the stare – that garishly unpared

heart


Dirty Hands

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Dirty hands pressed together

searching for a spring

to wash away these frosty days

and ease this suffering

 

Dirty hands push the plow

to sow tomorrow’s pain

a blistered blessing glist’ning sweat

held out in hope of rain

 

Dirty hands reach up

grasping for a plate

to feed a fickle fantasy

a hunger for to sate

 

Dirty hands dealt down

clenched and forming fists

a promise for preeminental

pummels upon wrists

 

Dirty hands pointing out

for bags of silver three

the way for bloody feet to tread

and darkened eyes to see

 

Dirty hands dig themselves

deeper everyday

a pity as their penitence

but buried there to stay

 

Dirty hands rub upon

dirty arms and legs

with dreams pristine they seek to clean

themselves down in the dregs

 

Dirty hands pressed together

nowhere left to go

despair set in through sordid sin

without forgiving flow

 

Dirty hands drift above

and flail to stay aloft

within the miry muck downpoured

from clouds above the waft

 

Dirty hands plunged beneath

the dark and stormy tides

for their at last once all has past

their cleanliness abides