Getting there

Leaving the city urban dead
Seeking green
Seeing gray instead
Looking to the East
Walls on beaches
Walls over trees
To the West are houses
From bamboo to concrete
Nothing left of memories
Dust, smoke, hubris

Dug-Up Gems, Maimed...

(Image from carrieellenartstudio.blogspot.com)

In a particularly early portion of a previous experience – I can't get more cryptic than that – I wrote the following verses. As the preposition for preceding each title shows, these are dedications. As to whether the objects of these consecrations appreciate the gesture is a whole different matter entirely.

Dusted off and humility suspended, PoetasterixTanix presents:

Dug-Up Gems, Maimed...

For Gemma (don't tell her)

her memory strikes me
like slammed door echoes
on a dark silent night
terminal AM static
scraped cola caps
asphalt paved highway
whistling shouts on anemic epidermis
lightning-struck tin man
ash-burned scarecrow
fish on a hook
how do you skin a cat?
give me no answers
she did that to me too


Leaving (For Gemma Part II)

Your white and blue presence
melts my knees
like the sun did
to Icarus' stubbornness

A single base drum
beats the bosom's windowpanes
into a thousand shattered crystals

When you fade away from view
in unclad stiletto heels
a sinister smirk
sows doubts...
you'll never be mine.


For Emma (please, please me)

called you on dead men's day
of all the...
why bother?
heaven's go no cover
on a highway it crawls
a high drunk he bawls
heh, heh
none nun dumb
she speaks to me in whispers
teenybopper's giggly patois
an elder stranger
ex-classmate's brother
lost chunks of his sanity times before
depression, a hate hobby
melancholia, a mania
pondering, a pastime
spin me records, dear
Lover the Dan, I swear
Brown Christmas
in a supermarket paper bag


Secret Satan (For Emma Part II)

You were born naked
clothed in water and salt
fortified by the archbishop
bored by sabbatical Sundays
weaned on television
reared on education
dirty
egos found
smug
counting rosary beads like marbles
tearing novenas like playing cards
shamed by a fig leaf
gored by a horned serpent
you love everything
horror
bless your besotted behind, kid
Inquisitions are behind us
or you could have burned at stake
fried to a crisp
like your soul probably is
now


My fay, my demon (date deleted)

My fay, my demon
silent child
wish you were here
wish you were mine

with dusk on curtained forehead
innocent rain lips
to share the night's wind
on the sly

absent the moon
an incomplete vision

days we see are few
hours we share too brief
only the gods of love
know for sure who suffer

Let your doubts bloom
bitter among the blossoms
for I'm only biding time
wishing what breeds contempt
loses its mind

keep looking
keep smiling
my fay, my demon
silent child

but please,
be silent no more.