footsteps 2

after a lifetime spent
in the world of automation
actively shagging myself out of a job
the goodbyes roll freely
from my tongue
the hellos hardly worth sharing
my hammer swings
without rite or rote
the backwind puzzling
to whom would I impart
the science of disappearance

the merlot triangle

put paper into confetti
and then they are little minutes
composed and graceful
as they float into existence
their tides high and cold
their locus bought and sold
they are me, but they used to be
someone in the line of life
somewhere within a shower
of sparks and party lovers
but the end was low
and I was alone alone
ready with my tummy out
wrinkly hands and needy child
so selfish, so so hard
to be spoken within
a thousand tongues
that fluttered through
a gentle breeze
sparkled on concrete
to frieze art as love

to catch a feather

inside a fading world
staving off the desperate grab
at time and money
with a few more illusions
pounding away at the forge
that a lifetime of hard work
could not grow
and it would snap me like a twig
and there are so many hands
I dont even know
holding them out

tv tower for a warrior poet

was a call to arms
in a den of snakes
but when ive shed enough skins
and gathered careful flowers
chasing the child around
for children make the best bouquets
of untouched perfection
and its silver and magenta
darkness and disco
salt and storm trail
my stomach starts to turn
my fingers grow electric
frightened to let go
but its already alive
im already not


the time bind

of many courses
she doesnt age well
isnt the jewel of the morning light
or a beacon of any hopes
except contrived anomaly
the echoes of motors past
her will her hand
wrinkle and fade
her tongue loud as
saw on metal
without charm even in this age
of the seeker
her ceiling is glass
her cradle is glass
a constant sparkles
down her every path