Poetry

Crystal Elongated Skulls

Were the skulls squeezed out of shape by a mysterious sound,
so their sagittal sutures can no longer be found?

Or has obliteration erased what was originally there
—the bones fused together?—seems it’s not all that rare.

We don’t know what caused them to be larger and long.
We hope it was aliens, but it could be we’re wrong.

It’s provoking to measure and re-analyze
the skulls staring out with such prominent eyes.

They resemble so much a meme of these days:
those alien abductors that we now call the Greys.

We hope that a portal reaching backwards in time
will be found as we delve down antediluvian slime.

But it could be our hopes will never be met,
since they blank out our minds so we will forget.

Do we know what is true, or are we dreaming it all?
Or will it soon blossom open, unexpected withal?

and do the other things*

we don’t have no books no more
we hardly have them retail stores

we do have things we’re using yet
some we love and some regret

our whatyamacallits came unbound
but none of us was then around

our grands and greats effed up the past
and lots of things just didn’t last

yet here we are, just you and me
trying hard, like we’ll always be

“We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard…”

*John F. Kennedy Moon Speech – Rice Stadium, September 12, 1962

I Need Do Nothing

I read between the words that glow:
“I need do nothing.” Lord, I know.

I haven’t seen or fooled around
or heard so self-assured a sound.

You ask me what I mean by this;
I ask, in turn, well, what of bliss?

We’re made of joy, it seems to me,
arising through great mystery.

most beautiful lips

The most beautiful lips in the world belonged to a girl
whose golden locks had yet to twirl
as they would when she unfurled.

Her generous hips happened to sway
in a long and a round quite lovely way.

But the beat of her heart and the heat of the day
kept her apart, so we started to pray.

Her jeans full of rips and her little brown shoes
let us all know she had nothing to lose.

But then her smile came along, keeping us glued,
along with a frown and an attitude.

When she dialed up the smile, we took a great breath;
when she put on the frown, it felt just like death.

And so, we conclude, by perceptions alone,
that the girl had her lips but we had our own.
And we must come to grips with those we enthrone.

troubles so vast

Although not really here to take us to task,
is it odd we prefer pain over peace?
It seems that we favor troubles so vast,
problems appear that have no release.

A lifetime of struggle that’s hardly begun,
is there a way to proceed, some different means?
Perhaps in those instances when “I” is undone
we remember the one who is dreaming our dreams.

i once knew

i once cared for certain things
a wife or two and golden rings

but now i find myself alone
a decent job, a simple home

i once knew of gloried dreams
i let them go, or so it seems

i used to know a path divine
i once held your hand in mine

i once knew of love so fierce
soft as butter, nipples pierced

i once knew when i was right
as i slept throughout the night

i once crawled across the floor
went to work and closed that door

i used to try so hard to grow
but now i’m not sure what i know

i once lived as just a child
but then i became unbeguiled

i used to look for quick release
but now i simply tinct and lease

A Captive Audience

You’d better watch what you say.

You’d better watch what some parts of you still want.

Your subjectivity could be suspected of being infected
of what now is deemed improper for public consumption.

If you’ve got the gumption.

You’d better not like fictional characters who are mean,
who are greedy,
who are lascivious
or vicious.

You’d better not be inclined to explore your own dark parts
and instead revile all of them en masse publicly.

Do you harbor secret fantasies about bodies younger (or older) than your own?

Do you get excited by people with power, with beauty, with flaws?

Are you a monster? With claws?

Did he say yes? Did she say no?

All of the dramas have now become traumas, and the only cure is public shaming.

Naming, and pointing, and blaming.

Do you know what has become verboten will probably change?

It’s not so strange.

You just better stay up to date.

And when changes occur, don’t wait.

The Product of an Overactive Imagination

He carried it as a ball
in a sack he wore around his waist
when he visited dream time before dawn,
when everyone else was aching to wake,
their organs swelling,
their bladders full.

He took the product from dream to dream
riding on a wooden wagon drawn by goats
who wore tiny brass bells
and sprigs of rosemary.

As he moved between dreams
through high plains and vast expanses of sand,
the product’s name shifted,
the strokes and curls of its letters,
in bright greens and dark reds,
snaking their way around the canvas wagon cover,
slowly mutating to fit whatever camouflage
dictated the current dream’s assumptions.

He used a goat goad,
fashioned from a thick, curled branch,
to fend off mouths and horns and damp noses
when he pulled over and poured a wee dram
into a tarnished copper cup
to ease his passing.

In several strangely related dreams,
he was called Nick,
and his wagon became a sleigh
and the goats reindeer,
their scented sprigs blossoming into mistletoe
and the sand turning into drifts of driven snow.

The call of the product pushed him
ever forward and beyond,
until he paid no more attention
to changing form as he travelled
than he did to the beating of his heart
or the air he breathed.

And the little presence that he squandered,
like trails of crumbs dropped along the path
of a drunkard gnawing on bits of dried bread,
brought smiles to the faces of some who noticed
and scowls to others who always seemed to expect more.

Under decorated trees in wrapped boxes
or stuffed in fluffy socks beside lit candles
or buried in tombs on the breastplates of queens and kings,
he pressed the imprint of the product
as deeply as he could.

And then he moved on.

Buddha’s Lament

Oh, I wish I had my baby soul
and didn’t have no place to go.

I’ve grown so eld here on a roll,
my swell is now on overload.

I wish I had my baby soul,
would kinda be like days of old.

Memba times bygone we took a stroll?
Our world was wide and we had goals.

Oh, I wish I had my baby soul,
down the river with a pole.

The bliss of youth still takes its toll,
and start and stop soon are whole.

sale ending soon

are you focused on this thing:
sale ending soon!

that cocksucking, shithole gummed-up gear
karma dharma in your ear

sale ending soon
man on the moon

does your focus, hocus-pocus,
fix on just some things?

the same damned things?

sale ending soon
heal any wound

can’t seem to let go
all of your fears

gotta keep safe,
every one of your dears

sale ending soon
as you belt out this tune

then you wallow around
in results that it brings

the same damned things

sale ending soon
when will you prune

those some behaviors
not your saviors
that don’t make you swoon

sale ending soon
it’s coming on noon