Archive for November, 2012

Moonchild

November 24, 2012

One score into a lifetime, Luna wakes up in the middle of a sweltering night

In anticipation of her anniversary into existence.

She blesses the nocturnal skylight for smothering her with solstice.

It has been a year and nine days since her brother passed on from the unspeakable condition

And she wonders aloud, is he the face smack dab in the middle of that round skylight?

And if so, why does he appear to be bawling?

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King of Prussia

November 24, 2012

Once in King of Prussia, I was falsely accused

Of mutilating my Paw with hammerhead cartilage

So I hitched a ride across the teal Philly harbor

 

I spent all my nickels at Stuckey’s but out of

The dew rolled a pseudo-Dodson handmade of wood

Driven by prepubescent twins with personal sniggers

 

Accompanied by vermilion atop the horizon

A family of three siblings they once had been

Until their half-brother suffered a fatal blow

 

Turns out they had heard of my father on FOX

So they assumed I was responsible for their brother’s death too

Soon, I was chained to the trunk, speeding toward Appalachia

 

The half-brother’s corpse resembled a childhood chum

So I confessed, and the twins were unmoved

They refastened the chains to acquaint me with epileptic fire.

Valkyrie Eleison

November 23, 2012

They won’t let you separate the cask from the cooper

They think you weld alpaca toothbrush to your lip

Are you reaching hard for blonde sun

Are you reaching hard for blue skies

They rip out your bridal chords and mail them straight to Valhalla

They are knighting those who vog

They are damning those who wag

They are fudding those who dare to kill the wabbit.

Digging A Well

November 11, 2012

By dairy farm with an unfading porcupine

A woven Canadian sea monster, and a frog menagerie –

An antelope’s no good in airline tailspin

Having a ten-acre flat nose, and still no tight-rope walker.

 

An officer’s dignity makes plentiful the faces and harps

Gulped out, not treasure from women’s bedrooms

Not soft gold ore from a costly Yom Kippur chicken.

Each shoveling chestnut trees away, chasing thriving portable cannons.

 

Watching over violent things, the catfish can cut off

The bone-scraper from rope to whinny

Their children’s game. A Newfoundland tribe threw bushels into disorder

Of her overflowing air raid and a cactus bubbling out.

 

Smooth and shiny men carrying spears. Might as well cut off

Bunches of nonsense seventy times. How’s the slave to let go

Of her arrogance? Stumble onto the rattlesnake into the river.

A loaf of bread without silver coins inside is a naked child.