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Corruption

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Cooked books adorn a silver platter,

brazen.

Watch for trap doors,

and red herrings

that lead you down spiraling pathways

to dead-ends.

Birds of a feather,

buzzards, stick together,

so long as they all

get a little piece

of the rot.

Charitable of them

to self-deal

with their cronies.

They all move

in the same circles,

overhead.

They let you navigate

their maze, sniffing,

dare you to chase them away,

then become untouchable,

chickenhawks.

A blurred face

need not be saved.

I cannot tell

whether they’re turning a blind eye,

or looking

right through you.

On Forgetting

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Like cotton-candy

standing up

to a deluge,

sometimes these things fade,

quickly sinking

into the mud.

And sometimes they move in phases

as your recollection shifts,

like the coastlines

warping more the closer you peer,

just as you try to quantify them.

Tenuous already is our grasp

of the present.

The past does not preserve well.

The memories need to get out,

to stay fresh

but take up so much space

and don’t always make clean reentries.

Sometimes we compress

the things we’d like to keep,

or contain —

but they’ll usually lose

their original character,

or exaggerate it to absurdity,

whatever’s worse.

Left alone,

they may consolidate,

as a skewed synthesis of disparate events.

Or they collide, leaving hollowed-out husks

of days gone by,

flinging detritus

to where it never was.

In spite of this,

one tiny detail you find

in daily life,

that you probably forgot about,

can bring you right back

to where you once were

some time ago.

We use these pieces of experience

as planks to build stable footing,

keeping them flexible lets our platform’s

withstand the test of time.

Siphonophore

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Wheels within wheels,

interlocked

eyes that dot the rims.

10,000 outstretched arms

invite all comers,

wings encircle a glowing and ascendant

body.

From many,

a single entity.

An atomized chorus,

moving in synchrony

without consciousness,

nor dreams nor thoughts.

Order and chaos,

coalesce to form an

improvised symphony.

Each piece,

individual, indivisible

and interdependent,

living communally

serving the whole and

acting in concert.

The being,

older than time,

makes no demands,

states no pleas

only meanders

through darkness.

And we,

looking through our own reflections,

wish we could ask it

what it sees.

A Limited-Time Offer

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Black and white montages

of your every day

average Joe

miserably failing

at mundane tasks.

Cut to open,

blinding white,

well-lit

studio space-

a prophet enters

to offer liberation.

His promises are grand,

his obligations are reasonable,

he tells you

salvation is yours for the taking;

he shows you

the sacred code

to speak with one of his disciples.

They beckon you

to pay your indulgences,

and enter the promised land

of Convenience.

Judgement day is upon us,

the prophet sweetens the deal,

if you are among the first 200

to accept him,

he will give unto you

a sacred chalice

that is impossible to spill

because of its NASA-inspired design,

but the clock is ticking.

You dial the phone,

but the line is busy.

You cannot live a life

of fear and ignorance

anymore.

When the words of the prophet are with you,

who stands against you?

Once more you dial,

and it rings for 3 minutes,

limbo.

Evil will not prevail today,

you tell yourself,

but you’re not so sure.

You walk in the shadow

of the valley of death,

into the kitchen,

where the reception is better.

One ring begets two,

which begets three

and on the fourth,

Hallelujah!

You have been welcomed

to the pearly gates of Convenience,

where every widget

is yours to order,

for 5 easy payments

of $19.99.

The angel on the other side

Is pleased to inform you,

that you are the 156th caller,

you have earned a sacred chalice

of your own,

what a steal!

Tuatara

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I’m from an ancient bloodline,

patient and pensive,

and to my surprise,

time flies,

regardless of whether or not

you’re having fun.

Everyone I related to

left long ago,

and all that remains

are these fraud lizards,

with my third eye,

I see right through them.

Meanwhile,

here I am,

in exile,

under a rock.

I’m from an ancient bloodline,

strong and tenacious,

I spend my days digging trenches,

eating spiders

and hissing at tourists,

what a complete indignity.

My ancestors,

walked shoulder-to-shoulder

with giants and beasts,

now that there’s finally some room to breathe,

It seems there’s less space for us than ever.

I’m from an ancient bloodline

peaceful and wise,

and for old times sake,

I’d like to revisit the Halcyon days,

and have the sun blocked out once more,

an equal playing field.

Trust me on this,

the world needs it.

I’m Being Published!

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The fine folks at Z Publishing House have selected my poem I Hope you Find What You’re Looking for to be published in their compilation “New Jersey’s Emerging Poets!”

I’m very excited and thankful, and wanted to share the link with my followers here, which you can find below.

http://www.zpublishinghouse.com?rfsn=940491.a8f6e6

Stay tuned for a new poem today, if you’re into that sort of thing…