Floating Heads

No google search for the nameless ones

Those foot soldiers of eons past, identities

thrown onto garbage heaps turned dust

except for the lucky proven beacons cradled

by the arms of history. Flick on your screen

and look them up, take a drag off the airways

I’ll wait for your return.

But for those lost not google search worthy

The unenlightened stripped of identity and

by all means friendless by today’s standards,

what a deplorable existence they had to endure.

And what of their Gods? All pretend! Only now

can we behold the vastness behind our beamed

up screens where one can gaze for hours, days,

drinking knowledge while deconstructing infinity.

And to all us worshipers with floating heads 

morphing minds onto a new generation of 

perfection, we awaken to a new world where 

sunsets are passé, a vacuous void holding 

no useful information nor need for contemplation. 

Now please excuse me while I step aside and 

recharge. My battery is at 5%.

My Thin Veil

My thin veil, an angel's garb her sheath draped

reverently across my dreaming brow, where sparks

dance an omnipresent waltz from dusk to forever,

world hopping.

Sometimes feet stomp in monster sized shoes, creating 

earthquakes forcing me to startle. While tiny thoughts burrow,

large voices mumble a growling manifesto.

Running for cover under my luring veil's protection, I lay

my head on earth's newly amended blanket. Now back to
my slumber I will dream timeless remembrances, where
I promise to restfully remain.

Battleship Me

Swaying my way from a dissonant juncture, dizzied

by the pendulums grip, I speak my mind to my cautious

nature, then jump bail to sail on my upside down ship.

Hellbent I stay course on my nautical journey, deconstructing

swells on this perilous trip, unwinding centuries of dubious 

battles, flailing arms at the ghosts I so sorely miss.

Then the ending arrives at the dock of no ending, stretching

beyond the faltering sea, I swallow my pride shirking all formalities

as I face the face that's undoubtedly me.

Notions

Notions, funny things they are. They can't be grown

in clay pots like flowers waiting for a sprinkling. Notions

have lives of their own. And they're cross cultural too. A 

stranger from another continent replicates a notion 

I'm having right now, archetypal thief, I'll cut out your 

tongue!

Notions congregate and sometimes protest 

radically, without anyone being held responsible. They 

forge clandestine relationships, whisper unsavory 

secrets, exchange unspeakable dreams, and rummage 

around the universe's underbelly looking to steal it's 

most guarded recipes. They multiply, divide, they overlap 

one another and before you're aware, you're told to put 

down your writing tool. You're no longer needed. 

The poem was written without you.

For Gena

Her cheeks sculpted by God's marionettes,

a mother presses hers against the silken

contours in hopes a lasting impression will 

cement and suffice the four hundred miles

of separation.

Memorization cell by cell it's easy I've been

recording since your birth, and before in

imagination as we rocked I pulled the chord

of the magical stuffed blue whale, the haunting

lullaby, it's song from inside, while your

ears listened in sync with mine. You in your

internal secret place, then and almost as you

are now, returning to a freedom apart but still

and always a part of me.

Fate Not for the Faint of Heart

As meteors thrust and sound waves break
barrier walls of dust, I play in my sandbox
of grain and dreams contemplating difficult
times in equal parts, as if life's equations
would or could make a difference to myself
or anyone else. I fool myself from knowing
that when fate makes it's easy way my door
will be open, but not of my own accord.
Fate is not polite and permission won't be
willfully given. But things will be taken
by and by.

Outside Inside

Peering onto her refracted surface, the unsuspecting witnessed
a two-faced mirage of perfection. Yet, penetrating through skins of
calcified crystal lay nestled her neatly harnessed diamond of fear.

Outside she built her castle strong, of glacial towers and a moat
of sharded glass. But inside, she sat alone on her stone throne
asking the unanswerable questions, those which couldn't
be grasped or sacrificed for explanation. There she played
broken chimes, discordant tunes, for more years than she'd
wished to acknowledge or remember.

While hunkering in for the long hall, she grew weary beyond
the words which reduced to scrambled messages inside her head.
Still, she chose to remain in her icy palace, unrelenting to expose
her outer shell as only a harmonic facade. She figured it a just
exchange for that which she lacked within.