Table of Contents


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.