Affection

Affection for you wells within my adoration. The two mingle in my desire and fire outward beyond control. My breath comes electrically charged, dancing at will before your pure storm. I see your baby face amongst the blotchy clouds, backlit by blinding light and reinforced in aching thunder, beautiful in its unfiltered unpredictability. Time flies, hearts burst, red pours freely, and your sweet sky eyes mesmerize. Curl your flower lips in welcome, lull me with your poppy fragrance, steal me with your wholesome magic. My breath steadies, becomes even, and my eyelids sag like laden leaves. I am with you in the fading wakefulness, weightless and surreal, numb to all but love.

Wellspring

Spouts the wellspring.

Its trickle hates the deaf.

Earth's golden contents stain the countryside,
Pouring from the wellspring socket.

Great glistening rivulets,
Carry a million secrets,
On their razor ridges,
Purged in whirlpool vapors.

Endless is this wellspring,
Ignored by mortal man.

Whence does its supply flow?

Lusting by with reins in hand,
Gallops the mortal man.

Hoof prints imprint,
The wellspring's path,
And are filled by,
The erasing force,
Steadfast in infinity.

Sun, sun

The sun shines without a care, as its constancy confesses. Yet, one can’t help but ponder its predictability. The sun’s rays blow over all without prejudice or smile. The shadows it creates are hardly dark; stretching out at flippant angles. Such is our reliant light. May it work for us and not against us in this somber realm.

The Mexican wind blows,

Evaporating droplets of pleasure,

From my sunburnt skin.

There’s a disparity in between,

The fastest sunset and the slowest sea,

I’ve ever seen.

We’re at the top of our game,

Laughing in wide toothed gaiety.

The women enchant,

Are self-entranced.

I hear the cartoon tuba blare,

Through thrilled speakers,

And the on-listeners are dazzled,

By the second dimension’s unlooked-for expanse.

Yet beneath it all a gross query lurks.

It is a question that shrieks,

Loud and unanswered,

Within some moonlit subconscious.

“What is the nature of true merriment?”

Dissipation

Youthful notions dissipate in the experience dustbowl,

Whipped away by the corroding dirt.

It’s a devil full of hard color.

The child knows no bitter taste,

But the adult constantly lozenges,

Face pinched in a sour grimace.

Our sonless wives nagger us,

Their pitched voices grating,

As they critically self-satisfy.

You who know the sense of loss,

Weep with me in dire remonstrance.

For we are specks of dust on an angry sea,

Raisined hands grasping for a shattered ego-oar,

Tossed about without a will,

Strewn about without a soul.

The Key?

I want to be out in the reviving air, unstifled by obligation. To smell the freedom elevating my blood, tingling my awed mind. To feel my heart beating inside my ears, leaping like an excited puppy. The hourly cage bars me within, and I beat my head against its burnished bars. The lock rattles with teasing sounds; its gapped keyhole gaping with a jailer's bloodless laughter. God once told me that the key is hidden within. I wish I could find it. Searching through straw and stuffing for that shimmering treasure frays my nerves. The only thing my blackened hands touch beneath the bedding is the cold dead floor. My fingers have memorized my lightless prison: already the blind man's sense comes to the fore. As my grasp on time slips, my sanity falters, and reality merges in dreams.

I am eating ice cream in the noon day heat. The two year old inside me giggles. My teeth are frozen beneath the sun; my head suffers from brain freeze. These are my only concerns. Vanilla, chocolate, almond flavors burst vividly, full of heavenly pleasures. Each bite is better than the last. I am eating ice cream in the sun, thrilled in rich enjoyment. I stoop in for the last bite and my teeth clink against metal.

Ugly metal. Reality's suffocating consciousness. The sweetness remains imprinted on my memory, but my soul tastes bittersweet. Yet I think I am beginning to understand what God intoned so long ago. My key is not temporal. This cognition is my destiny.

Icicle

I glisten in the newborn sun,
An icicle.

Frozen unmelting,
And unforgiving end.

Curvaceous,

Unyielding,

Dismaying,

Shimmering in impenetrability,

Solid,

Chilled,

Untouchable.

The Rash Man

From what well does rashness spring? Who would be fool enough to draw up its malnourishing bucket? To taste its bile flavor? Lacking in grace is the great leap.

The rash man’s adolescence is a blur. It is all impulse and dissatisfaction. The rash youth throw, in a red hot moment, fiery dice at the dousing waters of probability. And they always lose.

Breath comes quick for the rash man, his heart pounds in his chest, and he grabs at superheated gold. His fingers meld, molting sense against the melting metal. The smell of charred skin wafts across his stuffed nose. The glint of yellow blinds his fixed baggy eyes, whose lids quiver with strain. Browning teeth crunch against one another, grinding enamel and bone. The streaking sound is audible throughout the scene.

The rash man dies without dignity. The failed past plagues him on his deathbed, and he wails with impetuosity, like a child. The memorable past perches on his shoulder, more vivid than ever in that last lightless hour. With a magnum to his brain, he threatens his tormentors. As he feels his organs fail, he pulls the trigger. And it is always the bullet that kills him.

Spring Days: I Know I'm Alive

I love the spring days when the sun's rays shimmer over the skin, heating body and mind. But it disappears and reappears like a confused lover. The impartial wind sweeps down and chills, calling for goosebumps, sensitizing. Your body is both hot and cold, and it confusedly reacts to both. On days like this, I know that I am alive. The clouds are immovable(as in a painting); they are made of feathered pigments. The smell of newness lifts from the tolerant earth, an all natural perfume. Deep down I know she'll kill us before we kill her. For survival is the biological code, and the frantic living feel its green call.

In Absorption Mode

In absorption mode,
Expression watches on the sidelines.

Weeks lensless,
Weeks spent inhaling,
Bulbous lungs tear at the seams.

Desperate to exhale,
To sag the chest,
To emit charged CO2,
Hissing hotly,
Fogging frosted windows.

Saluting Soldier

The doe eyes of meager contentment,
Protruding from a hollow face,
Salutes the brainless badge.

The patriotic bug itches underneath,
The intrepid skin.

As the waving colors flutter in the wind,
Reigning pride breathes,
Sunk in sin.