Writing, Ideas, & Stories
Wine and dined
on the surface
it’s ready,
Hold with care
we’ve done this before
lean and be steady.
She sang this rhyme
and I remember it today,
for it’s the anniversary
of the day she went gray.
Now we gander on the
meaning of this madness,
Alone and cold but loved
we too can be full of gladness.
Signs of the one
walking down 3rd Street
flowing pink sun dress
curly locks flowing down
her slim back.
Remnants visible in the rear
view mirror.
Signs of the one
walking down 4th Street.
That smile lights up my world
fourth of July in May,
may I please remember
this night
under these lights
under these stars
you shine the brightest.
Rolling in the deep
bottom of the pit it rumbles
to the rim. Filling to the top,
fleeing from the heat. Steam
erupts from the mouth,
flying away into the crystal
light orbing around. Erosion
criples the tongue, whispering
to the belly of the beast.
markets sell to few. You
can’t get a refund on
time. Lie for an hour
and watch the clock
strike nine. Time’s
the only way to
count the time
you spent
making
time
count.
Holding onto your wisp,
the feint stench of what you use
to be. Before your grasp
was comparable to an Iron Fist,
Ruler of a meek dungeon,
the warden called you Danny,
now you walk idle halls.
She sat in the weakened Earth holding her spade under a family of lanky trees. Clouds passed over her and she didn’t flinch, only continued to excavate.
Passed over the layer of fresh earth, the unavailable eyes hover over for only a second to blissfully pass. Soft brown, alone and the haircut of a beginning sprouted fruitfully.
Peeled the Earth apart like an onion in her hands. Life folded around her, miniature life forms, stretched worms curled around the roots of sprouting saplings ended too soon.
Warmth of the foundation of her today, she held in her hand, smoothed in her fingers. Smaller beings existed in her palms, crawling around her knuckles, fishing around her muddy boots.
The blazing heat of the crust pressed up against her cheek. She never wavered, challenging the heat of the invincible deity, in its own home, before the gods. She watched the core’s eyes flash around her human body, judging, luring her closer. Charred gates opened for her, and she entered without a cooling third thought.
Saddle up
and ride through
past the sun.
Your adventure is over
and tavern wenches pass
your tales like herpes.
Hat filled to the brim
of ego and spills
through the fresh bullet hole.
Sleep great adventurer. Your next
adventure has already begun.
I see you;
standing
on your mountain top
peering down at us
like a god to a man.
Who crowned you king?
When did your entitlement
place you at the top,
to call down below saying
we deserved our past.
It easy from way up there
isn’t it. Will be
waiting when a sudden gust
out of your control
pushes you. The fall
down won’t be pretty.
Oh we had some good times.
Running threw untrimmed meadows
laughing, laughing until our cheeks
turned red as lips.
Than, oh than the he blew through
the ceiling like a cyclone.
I found the shelf under my ass,
watching the light come through as
fragments dreaming of the real thing.
Dust mites came,
swarmed the finished wood,
to keep me warm through the winter.
Saint's Muse 