24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
To Whom It Doesn’t Concern,
We cordially invite you to knock it off.
We are not rapists. We are not fake news.
We are not three million illegal voters.
We are not burdens to the military.
What we are is a country of human beings,
All of whom were created equal.
You are not judge, jury and executioner.
So stop acting like it.
Yours Truly,
The Sane Ones
Mercury must be up to something:
A prick as old as that.
I used to blame astrologers
For wondering,
I used to be
A metaphysics scrooge.
In this vessel of a paper cup
Sail playground chips
And we must jangle
Toward the mysterious workings
Like alley cats
The defiant incoming motion
Dangerous opportunity
On this skirt
That no symbol invoked is insignificant
But lambs
That falling trees in absentia resound
A little ambiguously
But are well thought of
Calculable stresses.
We don’t want to bow
Or strangle
But holler a bit
And bear every relation
To reality
Faith for understood reasons,
Not gullibility for servitude
Devotion only to devotion
Sedition only to sedition
Solace and company who said that.
But my drawings may not be
So intoxicating a confection as
The top ten holy books.
I’m sorry.
I’ve let you all down.
The warrior lays upon the field of battle,
his life slipping away.
As the world dims and his day ebbs,
he hopes toes the Valkyrie.
He prays to the All-Father.
Odin is wise.
Odin is just.
The warrior prays to see the Valkyrie.
To live free.
To be brave.
To die in the field, the earth no grave.
These were his wants.
Now, at the close of day,
he prays it was not in vain.
For worse than death are the realms of Helheim.
If Odin is wise,
if Odin is just,
he will see the Valkyrie.
As the last light dies,
the air begins to shift,
the sound of wings are on the wind.
Ravens or winged warrior maidens,
he cannot see,
Still, he prays to see the Valkyrie.
If we could go back in time
Just for a day
I would cherish that day
Would never end
We have our memories
Of the best dad in the world.
Memories are forever.
Of my wonderful dad
With love always
It’s one of those nights
when I try to forget you
(when I try to set free
the stars of your memory)
The ink flows
and speaks of you
you become my muse
And I’m left
with a notebook
full of you.
(with a sky
full of you.)
Crickets are too swift for you,
Beardie-Love, so I’ll pinch
a plump mealworm, make it squirm,
brush your cheek with it
until you crunch it. Crunch.
Munch on shredded collards
spinning between my thumb
and index finger, tickled
under your chin. My digits
are too large to eat, Love,
your nose to tail fits
on my forearm. You may perch
in my hair while I scoop out
your sand, slice sweet carrots
for you, slice strawberries.
Munch. Flatten yourself
when I reach in until you
smell my skin, crawl up
and toward my neck. I’ll cradle
you in terry cloth, your nails
need trimmed. Soak in the tub
while I fetch fresh water, never
minding the wet nose at the door.
Melting
I never craved chocolate until
I witnessed the horizon meet
Those perfect brown eyes.
Outside the bones are pale,
visible, crooked, inflamed.
Inches of neon
fill sensitive parts
of my anatomy.
The skin is paler still,
wrapped in fur
like a rug,
like a quilt
gleaming
like armor.
My memory
explodes like
alphabet soup.
Spilling words
like Andy Warhol
drew Hollywood.
do I dare?
(she whispered)
(to herself)
i feel SO weirdly funny…
<<she gently began to nudge>>
<<& scooch>>
if only it weren’t so dark in here!
pin
prick
spot
of
light
~wriggling~wriggling~wriggling~
…tender wings sooo soft…
a flurry on the next warm breeze
Adventures!!!
(((my sweet butterfly)))
