Making It Three
Heaven's cotton glowed amber
Buttressed
By the thoughts of children.
These young thoughts
And their running start
For a fresh flight of fancy
Signaled exactly the moment
The occurrence took hold;
Enticed by the viperine visage
Of the Idol of Sin.
Whereness faded into nowhereness;
Time's enigmatic stammer
Hung like falling frozen pies
In a still frame.
Doctoring the layers
In pleasing stacks
Were to me
A wicked entertainment
As the trigonous
Became my patron Saint's blessing,
Hand-sewn in rich linens
And brushed
With a surgeon-like seriousness.
I unsay the earlier said...
Spells spelled
From right to left
And down to up
And spun 'round
Like the training bra's latch
On my younger self's novice fingers.
The vigorous spurt
Of my tufted ingenuity
Was enough to make me forget
The stolen quality of the throne
And my need to authenticate
Its rightful place
Under my eager seat.
Down on the geometry
Of ivory and ebony
Lay the detritus shards
Of my willed judgment
On that Hecate Institution
That weds but one soul to one.
Men In Black Hats
Still in training
For the Tedium Olympics
And branded
As the Inverse Universe Unit;
Earth's skin
Crawled with suited ne'er-do-wells
Running this insanity show
On stacked decks and hedged bets.
This leadership
Hides its true face,
A face
With a mouth favoring the left side;
A mouth
With a tongue exhibiting
Unnatural energy..
Salivating at first scent
Of the massive sweat
Kicking in
Of those left
Off the who-to-save list.
Heads on shoulders
Of these Heads of State,
Hosting appetites
For frying every atom in Creation;
Or to wage war
On troublesome heretics
Making radical holy trinity
Out of chicks, cars and guitars;
Those flaunting freedom
Like the whore she was.
It made a sad kind of sense
To those conditioned
By careful indoctrination
That bottoms out
The value of being human.
Poor souls;
Swallowed in an epidemic
Of spiritual cavities,
And no Dentist in White..
..in sight.
Midnight Hour Chime
Written in indelible characters
On the fragment of their souls
Is this present hour,
Sunk
In the uttermost depths
Of indifference.
It was a sumptuous meal;
The wine and liqueurs
Mingled with blasphemies
And sardonic laughter;
Celebrating
The sacrilegious plunder
Of this earth monastery.
Divine mercy
Had exhausted her resources
And means of action:
All these super-abundant favors,
These tokens of affection,
Turn direction
Toward
The grim vanishing point.
Wrong-headed affections
Stole their ability
To look skyward
Up to Heaven
To remember its just judgments
Instead,
Find their lot
Amidst the darkness:
At the fateful midnight hour.
Clamoring
And fearful noises
Report for duty
Waking the human sloth
From a deep sleep.
Morris Code
Card-carrying mensa mutant,
Morris was his name,
Who moon-lighted on the side
Of zeros and ones coding fame,
Made a smooth landing
On lunar vacation hide-away.
A choice was before him;
French roast adrenochrome
Or lo-cal American beer;
The call was quickly made;
It was Miller Time
In a lawn chair;
Feet up on the flag pole
Where wind couldn't blow
That wind-blown flag;
Enjoying the view
From way up there;
The big blue marble
And its time zone con artists
That lived on there.
Though he suffered
From most persistent bad habit;
His obsessive secret keeping,
He no longer feared
For his secret was safe up here,
Refreshed with rest
And an empty can of beer,
It was time to prepare
Catholic communion
In his neatly pressed
Freemason underwear.
