Table of Contents


A Bitch Named Karma

The smug and self-serving

Awoke to a rude grinning wind.

Lightning slashed

Through the panoply of clouds;

Rain descending

In an illusion of hesitation.

All are accounted for

In here our reality game;

Forced to throw in their chips

At the Table of the Loser's bet;

Supernatural Hostility,

With determination and grit,

Her retribution hand played.

I'd the wiser

By putting my money,

Rather,

On Lone Ranger's Silver

Making it to the other side,

Building roof-by building roof

On a tightrope bare back ride.

Hard edged reflections of the storm light

Turn all their faces

Into electrified black and white,

Replacing the default colors,

64.

The vulnerable are convinced now

Of a clingy mad notion;

The punishing storm

Stares intensely at these punished,

Observing each movement

Of their animated panic:

Psychological defense shields up;

Clamping off

Their unwanted horror-making thoughts;

Shadow-shrouded

And sheathed in sweat

Under the cloud-plated sky,

An unseen drive

Locked in to do

Quick looks over the shoulder

Cruel setting manic repeat,

And the acceleration is perceivable.

The end of the beginning

Or the beginning of the end:

Off-color joke telling

At the workplace water-coolers;

No longer a life event;

Super bowls and Rose bowls;

Gone with the Dodo:

Santa parades and New York New Year’s:

Whisked out of human future:

Colorado time shares;

Restoring the GTO:

Events only seen now

With a nostalgic looking back.

Do metaphorical storms,

As their literal counter-parts do,

Also house the extreme dynamic?

Perfect calm center

In perfect storm shell?


A Quick In and Out

Light-headed from champagne

Sipped throughout the evening,

I rocked myself

On the thin line

Between wakefulness and dreams

With the nerve-jarring rhythm

Of player-piano music.

Suddenly!

I fell headlong into subterranean gloom

Where purple-amber shadows 

Have substance.

Behind me

It was perfect featureless blackness.

In front

Stood the iron eyed ones

Holding lofty indifference

To my exasperation and puzzlement.

The smell of baby's blood

On their breath

Shocked me back

To welcomed consciousness.


Accidentally Crazy

A money-saving instant lobotomy

Falling from his sister's balcony

Left his egg

Covered in cracks

Cross-legged man 

Now cross-eyed too;

Sneaking past the sleeping bouncer

While he keeps;

His fingers crossed;

Inside boots,

His toes crossed, too.

After long, 

Exhausted pause,

He feigns some looks 

That passed as brave;

Takes a somewhat sturdy step;

Past the long-since-been depraved;

His right foot

Lands inside the entrance;

To the I-don't-see-'em mad museum;

Flirting with what lurks within;

The half-mad,

Goth-sad,

Tabloid-worthy,

All-night underground insanity. 

Moisture,

From the swaying crowd,

Slapped him hard 

Like desert heat;

A perfect welcome

Greets him fast,

From the randy swarm inside;

A home away from stable home;

The inevitable reality suicide.


All Goes As Planned

Before stepping out

From the old man's crib,

Stuffed a wad of vampire money 

Into hungry Levi pockets. 

Soundscape change to the 

Thudding of the Hotel's beats 

Across the street. 

Studious measures always taken

To avoid perspiration exercise,

Searching for the lure capable 

Of finding acceptance as audience

To a woman's mercy seat.

Finding the right excuse

Was as futile as finding 

An exorcist in the yellow pages.

Under two-thirds of an hour, 

Just a horse hair's breadth 

Under agreed-upon meet-up,

Not yet over the line 

Where unspoken tolerance

Gives way

To a vulnerable fainting spell, 

And the boyfriend's tardiness 

Becomes an attention whore issue, 

Our singles

Become a double, 

Not a fantasy rating,

But enviable couple.

Mona's ass shook like a car bombing, 

Rumbling, not trebling, 

Just lots of extra bass.

In the shadow of every moment

She felt out of place;

Like eye glasses on a robot,

Full of time

But out of space.

It's been half a dozen seasons now, 

That she'd settled in a valley, 

Short on hope

But long on quandaries;

Quandaries, 

One such being

Receiving an age ten Volvo, 

Wheels playing savior

To sensible shoes 

From a mild damnation

Of embarrassing half-life’s. 

But half glass full 

Was but half of the story.

The unmagical vehicle

Stole heart-cradled potential;

The will's heart

For a jaw-dropper 

Made in the image of her autonomous,

Divine,

Desires.

The night's events 

Blurred into underwhelming pittance. 

The memory editor

Thought the night's film

Was on speed dial,

Snipping out bathroom breaks,

Small talk,

And the uncomfortable pauses.

This highlight survives the cut untouched;

The scene,

Having tensions tested,

Where she pulls out her breast;

The erotic-rich prelude,

Propelling our bodies' heat 

To make necessary relocations,

From limbs to parts

That make the sex work;

A favored method 

To embroider our affinity; 

One

That always provided an out 

Of this grey world,

Saturated in its tedium;

Full heaving breaths of relief,

Expelled 

From smile-adorned sighs;

Our hidden Land of Yes.