The Straight Wind

Black clouds

erased the sky

as the straight wind

blew like

a rumble

from the west

and the poles

fell and power

snapped

with lines

jumbled

like snakes

in a pit

and days went

dark

like an end-time

scene

and silence

reigned

for many nights

till power returned

and the trees

were lit

like small candles

burning bright,

crackles through

the night.

Pensée

Writing is like weaving,

woven words like strings.

A dense tapestry of meaning,

immensely rich and strange.

Disquiet Fills the Void

We need a new metaphor.

We desire a new dream.

Something more

than the dark primeval forest

Something more

than the vast deep sea.

We have become the Other

and the Other has left the room.

Like Moby quick descending,

never to be seen again.

A barren land burnt golden

beneath the Dialectic's gaze.

We’re running looser than

a free wheeling tire on a

long stretch of Texas road,

rolling wild and lazy like

a meandering tumbleweed

across flat plains.

We need a new dream.

Something to wake us

from our sleep.

The slumbering giant

tosses and turns.

Disquiet fills the void.

Blood Moon 2019

Blood moon

on a moonless night

like noon at twilight,

hot as ice.

The contradictions abound

with riotous sounds

for up is down.

Quiet screams

of frosty passion

rings deafly

to my ears.