The Moment Before Impact

The violent velocity of lust eclipses our languishing love.


Born On The Winds

A voluminous balloon, beneath a luminous moon, floats gently.
Slung underneath, in a woven basket, we two, interwoven too.
Starlight, so bright, is guiding our flight, and no fears or wires hold us down.

Check out and help make lunch for starving minds everywhere!

Published in: on September 15, 2009 at 8:44 pm  Comments (3)  
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The midnight sky is mirrored on the blacktop by scattered shards of glass
Like spilled diamonds on dark velvet winking random patterns as I pass
A meaningless scrawl of truncated life mixes with tire tracks and mud
The alphabet of accidents is painted in sacrificial blood
Letters of death penned with tangled flesh form sentences of grief and loss
Line by line the highways scribe an end to stories at terrible cost
At turn-pikes and off-ramps the roads spasm into complex snarling knots
And no matter which route I take I cannot drive far enough to stop
The mayhem of the motorways or the transportation of my soul
From here to there and back again under the illusion of control
When the weapons are cocked and loaded we point the weapons at our homes
So casually we flirt with death, so casually we atone
Our lives are just the risk we take when we rush to get where we`re going
The ambulance will find us by the roadside, disarmed and so alone
Unable to
In anything but sorrow
Unable to imagine
The dawning of tomorrow
Without you

Published in: on September 9, 2009 at 8:59 pm  Comments (17)  
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American Advice

When we waste words willy-nilly we will wind up wondering, “What the…?”
Saying something succinctly in seventeen syllables suffices.
Think before you speak, then speak it precisely, these are my advices.

Thoughts On Reality…

Occasionally the borderline between light and shadow yawns wide.
The anima is snatched from my body and propelled somewhere other.
When I return to myself, am I different than I was before?

I have fallen into telephone wires, stumbled into treeshadows.
I have travelled through doorways like dark slices in the white skin of the world.
I have always come back, outwardly unchanged, inwardly rearranged.

I no longer witness the world through the eyes of the walker asleep.
Now all I see arrives through the bright eyes of the wide-awake dreamer.
Still, I feel we awaken only to awaken and wake again.

Have A Sandwich!

Apparently, an American sentence is 17 syllables.  And an American sandwich is 3 American sentences, bread, meat, bread.  I’ve read some talk about using a minimum of words, which implies a maximum of wordiness, if that makes any sense.  Big words.  Five dollar words.  Polysyllabic words.  I tried it both ways.  The idea is flash fiction; a brief, thought-provoking tale of… whatever.

Hungry?  I just whipped up a couple sandwiches for your dining pleasure.  I even garnished the second one with a title and some rhyme I found in the fridge.  Enjoy!

Anti-governmental conspiracies vigorously multiply.
Contentious extremists formulate rebellious insurgencies.
Systematic annihilation hovers, wearing a death’s-head grin.


At Night We Go Wandering
A sleeper walks away from himself in a lucid dream to explore.
His spirit washes up some time later on a distant astral shore.
The breath leaves his body a final time and the sleeper wakes no more.

Hmm… I think I counted those right.  Ah, well, even a sloppy sandwich can taste good, eh?  Here’s a napkin.  :)