Thursday, May 29, 2014

Eighty Nine . . .

I actually learned everything from my best friend
(or was it in spite of him?)
by Stormcat

arms on shoulders we walked, drunk only with song
and changed the words to reflect boyish imagination
that we both fucked our gorgeous geography teacher
my friends words, but for the sake of joy I went along
and the mystery eluded me as if a liars orchestration
so I slinked away dismayed, does such a thing occur?

he was always the first therefore I could only envy
but he had an older brother and I was alone thus, so
pleasuring a woman was a completely alien concept
I listened and imagined, pretend, my only ploy to be
he told me of his conquests and this or that hot ho
and judged me as a coward or a boy who was inept

I wanted to be like him but something held me back
not for altruistic honor, just a genuine fear of mistake
perhaps I really was a coward but tired of the din
so we fought, bloody and bruised, no way to retract
my body felt pain but 'twas my heart that felt the ache
then his family moved away and I never saw him again

years later internally pummeled by raging hormones
I finally understood the power that then controlled
that which interceded and filled two friends with strife
wars fought of illusion yield graveyards full of bones
championed by the holy ones all righteousness extolled
virginity be damned for most, I saved mine for my wife

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved.

In response to Poets United midweek motif

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Eighty Eight . . .

Image by Snowflake

Hot Air Balloon
By Stormcat

I’d like to get myself a hot air balloon . . .
A big pretty one of at least twenty colors
-pieced together like a patchwork quilt-
with a giant wicker basket to ride in

Then I’d go up and never come back

I’d go to the world of stars and snowflakes
looking for a certain one that lives there
and when I've found her I’d never leave
because it would be good and peaceful

I’d stay and love her forever . . . Just her!

And when the world below us dies
from greed, pollution, and malcontent
we’ll look into each other’s eyes, for a time,
and morn from the senselessness of it all.

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Linked to Poets United Poetry Pantry

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Eighty Six . . .

by Stormcat

this country this place this road this shelter
six billion plus say it when asked
 some change it as often as changing clothes
some fear it, some revel in it, some are indifferent
except for the homeless, there are always at least two
(the current one and the nostalgic one)
a component of identity, some cling to it like a lifeline
others wish to distance themselves from the pain of it.

it is furnished with fixtures, characters, situations, pets
illusions, traditions, and some composition of dirt that goes
 unnoticed by residents but disgusts all non-residents.
when one departs a defensive armor substitutes for it
but a pervasive longing controls until the return. some
are full of light and life with warm laughter, music,
children, friends, dancing, chores, books, conflicts, noise,
joyful noise . . . . Love!

some are dark and cold, empty, missing some key
ingredient,  large and hollow, unfinished lacking the
trappings of normalcy, struggling to provide even the
very basics of shelter. turn on all the lights, play the
music, acquire luxuries, throw parties with giant bonfires
prepare gourmet meals, take jacuzzis, sleep on pillow
soft beds with tantalizing linens, it remains empty. it is
only as complete as the completeness of its residents.

search a thousand locales to find it and it eludes you
visit a million ideas to understand it and it eludes you
fuck a hundred lovers to feel it and it eludes you
fight a revolution to possess it and it eludes you
work a million hours to buy it and it eludes you
build five hundred houses to approximate it and
still . . .  it eludes you. for each it is only found in one
true other. so come, my love, and make Your home in me.

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Monday, May 19, 2014

Eighty Five . . .

by Stormcat

Why do I wait? Why is it so painful to wait?
I feel like I’m waiting for Godot. Ignorant of
absurdity, compelled by expectation, hope,
where life on the road to nothingness . . .
is, well . . . at least living.

So what to do? Spend my time sleeping
cleaning, grooming myself, working,
preparing for the day when . . . dreaming
of the moment when . . . planning
and, well . . . foolishly waiting.

If she weren’t so special, I wouldn’t give a damn
I’d just say “next” and move on
Is there a threshold standard for that?
a point where one unavoidably concludes
that, well . . .I must be insane.

It’s the textures of life that add interest
the situations dealt and problems solved
relationships experienced, lost or kept
and now I’ve experienced absurd waiting
but, well . . . not for much longer.

The difficulty is judging when to stop.
It’s often that thin line of one more step
a little extra effort, or a little more patience
that determines success verses failure
so, well . . . am I staring at success?

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Eighty Four . . .

X-tracted Structure
by Stormcat

The rain drove the clouds down into the woods
while the snow resisted it's end by hiding in the shade.
though I used to cook remarkably
lately my diet has become retrograde to an earlier existence
macaroni and cheese seven days a week
none can see clearly through fog.

The cat leaps onto my shoulders
reaches a sandpaper tongue to the lid of my closed eye
then the index finger of my closed fist.
sandpaper smoothes wood to bring out its natural beauty
yet rubbed on flesh abrades to ooze.
is polished hardness or innocent blushing more beautiful?

So, ride the electronic highway in hopeful search of companionship
reality never seems to match the vision
is love sequestered from the seeker?
The universe ignores optimistic desire and delivers feared content?
You can't find what you desire until you stop looking for it . . .
What an illogical unfounded load of crap!

The bones of individual sacrifice form the skeleton of humanity.
Yet selfishness tears it down leaving humanity unsupported
caricatured as a bloated bag of structure-less flesh.
Selfless commitment developing into beautiful love filled families
sealed from before stretching into forever immune from the grave
balances universal energies, stabilizes humanity, justifies life

Copyright 2014 all rights reserved

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Eighty Three . . .

"World Without Me?" or "The Diminution thereof!"
By Stormcat

As long as I have love, I don’t care about money
or wealth or fame or anything. So when the prospect
of never finding love is thrust upon me and the past
has proven reticent to such, I am prone to withdrawal
wherein I hide within depression and desire of precedent
extinction.  I wish to erase my existence and any influence
positive or negative to society there from. None would
want to have been the source of a negativity but why
should have society and the world benefited from
my contribution and genius without returning to
me the person an equal share of the favor. Therefore,
Erase me from ever having existed . . .
See the diminution thereof.

I know my worth and grow weary of the comparisons.
Peaceful engagement taken to it's end is subverted by
purported right action which in reality is melodramatic
bullshit.  The right hand actually knows what the left does!
To claim otherwise is to prevaricate socially,  acts of denial.
the enlightened, in face of overwhelming opinion from
the unenlightened, allows the process to continue. Thus
they exert their demands with the hope that none
will notice the lie. Disgusting weakness disguised in
righteous indignation to avoid defending true right.
Subterfuge rendered invisible by camouflage under
the boisterous rendition of screaming virtue . . .
See the diminution thereof.

Does universal energy comport to individuality? Will
longing for peaceful independence actually motivate
toward demise even as the ember fades, separated
from the corpus of fire? My passion is thus, in throes
of compromise, longing to exit this stifle. Striking
shadowy ether, blindly, hoping to maim substantive
enemy by mere fortune; learning rather to hate
myself for engaging futility as if . . .  So I'll get myself
a big fluffy lovable playful dog, retire to deep forest
reclusion, encourage mysterious rumor for curious
children, read, write, dine on succulents and perverse
indulgences,  drink alone the wine of life and desire . . .
See the diminution thereof.

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Friday, May 9, 2014

Eighty Two . . .

Courting a soulmate 4
by Stormcat

Matisse- painted dancers, O'Keefe- flowers
that mimic, Rousseau- a thousand birds, Magritte-
hats (does anyone get that? maybe he was Sacks'
patient.) For Dali- ­­­­Gala; Lennin- Ono;  Satra- Beauvoir,
Stravinsky- Vera de Bosset;  All of Troy- Helen; Pollack-
Krasner; Anthony- that gold digging Egyptian bitch

The men inspired and the women who inspire. So what
of the reverse? Did Helen Keller have a muse? Joan?
Maybe Frita . . . But even there it seems, no. Great men
have muses, great women . . . pain. . . or is that
the same thing?

My mother once told me that all she ever wanted was
to live freely without worry or fear, to be honored
and loved. My father only wanted a woman to share
the burden of life.

Soul-mates? I guess not. Their marriage died a slow death
at the hand of mediocrity and disappointment, not
blown apart by passion or struggle.

So, not the mortal product of a soul mate union . . . does
that preclude me of having one myself?

Or does it just make it harder for me to find her?

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Eighty One . . .

Courting a soulmate 3
by Stormcat

Oh the joy! Just when you had given up. . .
You have thought many attractive before but
this . . .
this is silk floating across your soul like
a fine scarf floats over skin, caressing with
such a gentle love as to command your
every sense;
this is color embellishing your mundane life like
a million wildflowers on a summer meadow
or a double rainbow after a storm as the sun
streaks through broken black clouds;
this is the refreshing relief to the tedious
like the exhilaration felt on a sultry summer
day plunging naked into a dark shady pool at
a hidden bend in the river;
this is comfortable pleasure like a Sunday
afternoon nap following a satiating meal with
 friends or family;
this is rewarding like the arms of a small child
flung around accompanied by the innocent
unabashed I love you declaration;
this is the undeniable joy felt when it is
realized that the one you truly actually love
 truly actually loves you too!

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved
Eighty . . .

Perfecting Love
by Stormcat

Does it have anything to do with love?  I have loved much without commitment!
Certainly love can be a factor in that motivation
but commitment goes in a much different direction from love.
I can negotiate an "arms length" contract with someone whom I have never met and that is commitment! ! ! I promise to deliver this if you promise to deliver that!
Ten million dollars for XYZ goods . . . Now that's commitment!

But then there is that other nuance.
            I promise to love you if you promise to love me.  -or-  I promise to love you forever and do everything possible to make your life full of joy if you promise to love me forever and do everything possible to make my life full of joy and vice versa and vice versa etc. forever!

No! love is love but commitment . . . There is also the thing about loyalty
            commitment implies an expression of loyalty. "You are my best friend and brother and I will always be there for you!" That means you don't fuck my girlfriend even if she is pretty and willing! That means you bail me out of jail if I get a DWI even though beforehand you warned me about my drinking! That means you get me out of the bar before the big guy figures out that I was hitting on his wife! That means you got my back when I'm in the woods and kill the Grizzly who is about to maul me! That means you tell me that it's inappropriate to make a plan for simultaneously shooting all the people at DMV and all insurance agents! That means that you listen seriously while I explain that I am actually the prophet who will fight off the world at the last battle of Armageddon. . .

So If I say to you "I love you, do you love me?" I just want to know how you feel.
I want to know if there is any possibility that you could have feelings sufficient to motivate you in the future to become my partner. A basis for something real and not a pipe dream. A foundation that can be built upon, not a sandy sunshine beach that will wash away with the first sign of adversity.

If there is no Love there is no possibility of a future.
But Love is just the prerequisite. The rest has to come from there and has to be sought and worked for . . . A good life lived is not the realm of a lazy man and a committed love that lasts for eternity similarly requires valiance!

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Seventy Nine . . .

Recapitulating Legacy
by Stormcat

It's how my expectation evolved irrelevant the why.
That one searches humanity and geography to find
companionship and purpose mutually congruent with
that thus offered. The souls of matter dark and light
combined in exquisite complimentary mutuality.

I figured that event should've taken place sometime
between the age of 15 and 35 to allow room for the
proper education of future generations appropriate
to legacy congruent with all the legacies of previous
generations hopes and dreams; combined to unity.

 That one, designated sweetheart, to enjoy deference
unique to us; respect; loyalty and trust; unconditional
unquenchable love; gentle confidence devoid of
manipulation, devoid of even the slightest duress;
confidence absolute, whether expressed or implied.

When the window of opportunity has so long expired
that, even if discovery arises, the remainder is moot
and wisdom dictates rethinking the utility of keeping
such an array, goals notwithstanding disappointment.
Situational failure equals existentialistic revenge?

No one intentionally lives a life of "quiet desperation"
rather such overtakes even as denied failures to achieve
perceived expectations  accumulate and coalesce into
ever increasing pressure to acknowledge the futility
of continuing seeking the ideal blessed admired end.

Wisdom deconstructs youthful exuberance, therefore
the passion and impatience of youth rejects it as an
unnecessary barrier to progress. So, leave progress to
the young, and let the wise accept the consequence of
its youthful exuberance, notwithstanding repetition.

Even if one finds that perfect companion, one of them
will die first therefore the other faces death alone with
an uncertain intervening interval at a time of waning
physical acumen and increasing realized vulnerability.
Where does then, advantage of companionship reside?

Thrust into midlife's waning years one is forced
to contemplate and face ageing alone. The challenge
becomes satisfying actualization and avoiding panic.
To what end is a life that leaves no legacy in progeny?
If fame seems impossible, what is the best remainder?

So I hesitate on the brink of declaring independence.
Having realized the overwhelming and terrifying power
that I possess, why should I waste any subsequent time
seeking bygone quests that bear no fruit? Regardless, my
future, I leave legacy to those, who, for such, give a damn.

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved
Seventy Eight . . .

Courting a soulmate 2
by Stormcat

I always thought it would be easy, I mean a given,
where everything happens without effort and all
feelings are instantly acknowledged. Doesn't it
follow that your soul-mate would be instantly
in tune with you? But then there aren't any labels
and many are looking so there is inevitably going
to be some doubt and if you've already done it
wrong twice then the inevitable is a lot of doubt
How can one know?

I have my strategy. . . First is the connection, I
have to feel her from even before we meet, I
will somehow know before she tells me what
she feels because I will feel it too.  Second is
the natural presence of acceptance, that our
few differences are complementary, and our
similarities abundant. I guess last is known as
chemistry, but how does one define/know that
Perhaps it is in the kiss!

I think the only way to overcome the fear is to
simply leap headlong into the abyss. Run to
each other and throw your arms around with
abandon, allow passion to control, in fact
insist that passion controls, trust the instinct
that whispers to your head, grips your heart,
and makes butterflies in your stomach. hold
hands and never look back or question again.
stand beside, as one, forever!

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Seventy Seven . . .

By Stormcat

I had been
walking around dead for many years, I didn't know
how long. I couldn't remember. I was dead,
you see,
when you're dead you can't remember being
alive, so how could you know
when you died.
then one day I realized that I
was almost alive again. So I tried to remember
the changeover; but that was like a fog
and all I could remember was little bits and
pieces of slowly coming back to
life incrementally.
I'm saying this because I don't know if the
seed of rejuvenation began to germinate
in preparation of or in response to
you . . . seem to have been
 dead too walking around too not knowing
too so perhaps the
answer is simultaneously and neither and both
and because . . . the relevance however
being that: to complete the process, to live
and love and laugh and beautiful, to
recapitulate we
need to be . . . remain, complete we.

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Seventy Six . . .

By Stormcat

there is no answer . . . there is no question
I contemplate her and she baffles me
I analyze her and she baffles me
I approach her and she baffles me
I feel for her life force  and, yes, yet again,
                                                 she baffles me
I used to think I understood gray
now having met her I realize otherwise
words are easy but I can't make up feelings
experience is the poet's cruel taskmaster
if I want to write the crisis then I have to
                                               pay the price
I don't have another love in me though, yet
even knowing, that there is none left after this,
I've given it all to her and I can't take it back
I wait at the threshold hoping she will join me
together we will walk on air to joy, alone I go
                                                to my abyss

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved
Seventy Five . . .

Attractive Nuisance
By Stormcat

By such a beautiful trestle over Loco Canyon, heavy
locust timbers safely translate the weight of the
heaviest of the heaviest trains through tried and
tested structure to the canyon floor. Seventy three
feet below the track, the dark surface of a deep pooled
stream beckoned fisherman and swimmers alike to take
the not so gentle hike and reap the reward thereby.

No one knows what year the diving started
demonstrative manhood testing from one of the eleven
cross supports or the top itself. Jack-knifes, cannonballs,
gainers, swans n flips from the lower perches, jumps
feet first from the upper. Each leap point referenced by
number "Did you hear? Steve did a cannonball off four
last Saturday but then, not to be outdone, Rocky did a
seven without shoes." (Rubber soled, worn to stop the
sting of breaking the surface tension.)

Finally someone did a twelve! Then twelve
was the only number worth gossip.
"Someone's gonna get hurt!" complained the
old timers outside Loco Village's local "Or
worse . . .

There were some accidents . . . "Jackson got
drunk, fell on the slippery wet rocks, and shattered
his hip bone, had to have surgery for three hours, now
he has a plate, pins and screws holding it all." "Mork
slipped and fell climbing up past three. Caught a nail
and gashed his back wide open. Sam pulled him
out n stopped the bleeding. Took 23 stitches!" But then:
"Mark Wilson got Mayor Colby's daughter, Jamie,
pregers the night after after doing a twelve" That's when
Dave at the regional office talked to the attorneys.

Attractive nuisance they called it! The Railroad has
a duty to "warn and protect" even trespassers
at least of the innocent category!     Strict liability?
Signs were posted!      The hiking trail blocked!
The fisherman complained! The tourists complained!
But the bar had been raised . . .  and the teens?
They still jumped!
Witnesses were essential, events were planned now!
Who? What approach? Should it be photographed?
So the railroad put up a fence!

Chain Link! Stretched across the top between
the electrical poles, seven feet high, attached to the
ties at the bottom supported by pipes at the top, Still
the jumpers climbed and jumped.
Now the top number was thirteen!
So fence was extended . . . twelve feet of chain link
with three strands of barbed (or should I say razor) wire!
Motion cameras, placed along the trail, tied
to the local security office, reported any breach.
Finally . . .                      the jumping was stopped!

But the legend lived like a war cry
Legend holds strong motivation to seekers of manhood.
Achilles' spear-kill thrown from beyond vision
and for a loco boy     to jump from, never before
attempted, fourteen!
                          Off razor wire no less . . .

Christian's father was in the Air force. But he lived
with mom off mill street in Loco suffering the stigma
of divorce and poor. At fourteen Christian was secretly
in love with Valerie the most gorgeous, long haired
sassy girl a fourteen year old could ever imagine
Valerie occupied Christian's every thought. When
called upon in Biology class to name the frontal bone
of the skull, Christian answered right out loud "Valerie."
Everyone laughed and Valerie blushed.
But love was not to be a given for them . . . Christian
needed a quest! An act of ultimate bravery solely
performed for the purpose of proving his undying love
for the girl of his dreams. And in a small rural setting
such as was Loco there was only one possibility
Christian was destined to be the first . . . Fourteen!
"For Valerie!"

Once realized the quest took on a life of it's own . . . 
everyone seemed determined to make it happen.
Of course only those "in the know" were aware of
the plan and what a plan it was. Finally the date was set.
Friday . . . June . . . Thirteenth . . . Early afternoon,
when Bish Janko, the security guard who monitored the
trail cams at Loco railroad station would be out on
vacation. No one would be watching but they'd come
in from the top, anyway, where there is no trail, “just
to be sure.” Both Blake Brown and Josh Ramsford
volunteered to video the event although neither had
ever even had a conversation with Christian before
becoming “his best friend.” No one knew anything but
anyone who was anyone was going to be there!
Valerie told everyone that she didn't care what
Christian did, "He can break his neck for all I care!"
she declared. But with all the pressure from friends
and classmates she ultimately decided to attend
"Just to watch!"

The morning of the thirteenth was quiet for Christian.
He slipped into the stables where he worked on the
weekends and borrowed a thick saddle blanket to lay
over the razor wire. He reviewed the plan, in his mind,
with all the advice he's been given about keeping his
elbows in, holding his nose, and pointing his toes so
that he wouldn't hit bottom. He considered whether this girl
was "worth dying for" and decided that living without her
would be like dying anyway. . . He imagined his father
flying jets in the war and thought he needed to maintain
the image of the lone warrior protecting the one he
loved, or at the very least demonstrating his courage and
commitment to do so. Even as the hour drew near, even
as the anxiety escalated, even as the fear threatened to
subvert his resolve, Christian remained undeterred.

Never had such a crowd gathered before . . . Christian
looked in awe through the chain link even as he climbed.
The saddle blanket was thrown over the razor wire array
and the process of climbing on top began. He could hear
the hum of electricity surging through high tension wires
just a few feet over his head and he felt the hair stand on
the back of his neck as he ducked his head in response.
Suddenly the saddle blanket covered razor wires gave way
under his weight. He felt himself teeter on the edge, loose
balance, and instinctively grasp for anything
to stabilize himself.

For anyone who has ever experienced a moment of
impending disaster, where instinct takes over and the
conscious mind ceases to control, it will be recognized that
a person is never smarter or more rational that in those
moments. Whole new plans are contemplated and
rejected over and over in milliseconds until finally an action
is enacted. This was one such moment for Christian. Here, the
natural desperate act of grabbing an energized electrical wire
was at the last minute replaced with the realization that this
was not going to be a jump from fourteen
but a dive from fourteen
by a boy who had never done a dive before in his life. The
crowd below gasped as Christian prematurely left that perch and
watched, as if in slow motion, as the falling body slowly
realigned itself midair until, head first, back arched, it cut
the surface of the water as a knife through whipped cream.

To say that a hush fell over the crowd would be a gross
understatement. It was more like dead silence. No one
was even breathing. All eyes were fixed on the dark surface
and the seconds passed like hours. It was as if everyone had
died and life itself was waiting for Christian to reappear;
such that, a giant collective sigh was audible when his
head broke the surface, and everyone realized that they
had witnessed the birth, 
however reluctant or intentional it was, 
of a living Loco legend. . . .
                                       “for Valerie!”

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Monday, May 5, 2014

Seventy Four . . .

Courting a Soulmate 1
by Stormcat

I've been waiting my whole life to meet this woman
why does two weeks more seem like such an eternity
is it that my world has felt so dead for so long like
living in a lightless tunnel cold and alone groping
wondering if my eyes even will work ever again
then one day noticing, is it a mirage, how far away
what couldn’t be more than weeks turns to months
still not sure that it is real, afraid to believe
more afraid to doubt

I've been waiting my whole life to meet this woman
is a date certain really that . .  can anything be that
what if she likes pomegranate seeds in orange juice
served in bed with coffee  . . . every morning I
guess I can do that, but I'm not baiting her hooks
she wants to fish, she puts her own damn worms on
but I will clean her catch and prepare a tasty dish
and sip wine and dance the slow dance and
love her forever

I've been waiting my whole life to meet this woman
every love song ever written and sung is about her
she is the soft breeze of summer caressing the leaves
cooling the forest whispering to the frogs that
the storm is on his way and she is impatient to feel
life generating strength penetrating her essence
yet fearing the explosive power that she triggers
does she realize that respect is my mantra
but how can I resist

I've been waiting my whole life to meet this woman
to marvel as she dances naked in the moonlight
and brings babies from conception to adulthood
to endure the harsh demands of femininity just
to taste her lips, feast on her breasts,  satisfy
my irresistible masculine desire on her to
cherish her eyes as they sparkle joy or anger
to thrill her discoveries of simple beauty
to find the joy of life

I've been waiting my whole life to meet this woman
and now that she is coming all self-doubt  inures
sleeplessness controls, my heart beats out of whack
my breathing loses all regularity, my skin exudes
sebaceous character as if recapitulating teenage angst,
dichotomous emotions surface, I wonder whether I'm
embarking on  a marvelously successful adventure or
painfully oppressive imminent disaster
couched in beauty

I've been waiting my whole life to meet this woman
my princess, my goddess, my sweetheart, my lover
my best friend, my muse, my number one fan, my
shy little one. the one I protect, the one I fight for
the one I was born to love, the one I live for, the
one I would die for, the one who will bear with me
the burden of living and share with me the rewards
of bearing that burden, the only one I
have ever hoped for

I've been waiting my whole life to meet this woman.

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Seventy Three . . .

Fenestrated Darkness
by Stormcat

I don't remember dying, it must have taken place sometime when
I was busy
with my career or trying to become famous.
I discovered the death when
I noticed
that everything around me was rotting.

It gets later
I numbly watch a movie that I've seen before
like fifteen times
wishing I could just feel some joy
so I take the pill that's supposed make me feel
good again
seems just an anticlimactic approximation

Motion slows
A knee gives way. Blood streaming lets me know
I have fallen
There doesn't seem to be pain (as long as I don't try to move.)
How long can a man lay still before someone notices
cold seeps
Get up before the fire goes completely out

Deep Snows
cover me as ice blows a chill down the spine
Food forsakes
Spiritual rodents inflict the flesh
desire tortures the soul, with despair menacing
close behind
If I gouge out my eyes will the darkness hide me?

The sun
finds patches of blue through which to tease
Blinding darkness
reflecting cold between shadows of dark barren trees
blue and green evergreens release frozen white avalanches
random disintegrations
like toxic radiation, raining ice into the stillness below

Patchy fogs
Roll across the view like dark spirits haunting peacefulness
intercalation controls
moments of blindness penetrate moments of lucidity penetrate
moments of psychosis penetrate moments of memories penetrate
moments of moments
Whatever happened to the guardians of prosperity

Consumptive shadows
envelope, splitting the heart into a thousand
shards of stone
the void leaves implosive conditions sucking the mind,
scrambling the logic into pulse-less subsonic pounding.
Neuropathy advances,
generating the gelatinous shaking mass of rotting terror

Vultures descend
sensing the impending manufacture of perfect carrion.
Futile resistance
seems to rule, yet hope holds a window to salvation.
can the Universe leave it's child to flounder unprotected?
layers of fallen leaves
protect the delicate flowers of spring from a harsh cryogenic kill

It gets desperate
I reach for my gun to protect the essence of what?
undefined living.
or the life of a perfect yet grossly misunderstood genius.
can bravery overcome the fear of winning?
cannon-fire either
only frightens or kills. Intelligence only justifies all things, evil or not, . . .

Fire polished
implies tempered as well as smooth though the gross of the rough remains
in the surface
and structure substance beneath remains unchanged.
so it is with mankind, polished by the fire of life the soul remains the same
just covered over
with a melt formed glazing to hide flawed structure beneath

Clinging to solitude
hope finds both solstice and despair therein
life presents as multitudinous
iterations avoiding the windows to death
all the while death is but
the window to eternity.

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