Morning #1
The shadows of the trees still cover the road
but the birds have been singing for hours yet
My shoes collect seed pods, some will bite my flesh
resisting removal.
This dark, liminal season
transition of light and dark
betrayal of both
is upon us like a pouncing housecat
motes of furfluff and tree dander
circulating like blood
Under The Alabaster Heavens
The Grand High Desert
has some of the palest skin in the world
mile after mile
of ten thousand perfectly blond teenagers
saying, “Thank you for your service”
while mocking the disabled.
Closer to the skincancer sun
protected by SPF ten thousand underwear
And Too Cool For All This,
Yet unaware of a future
of Real Estate
And ten thousand kids
and voting their own oppression
Haunters
We are a broken people,
but we are fucking STEEL.
We hide behind masks of crazed wood
and verdigris rubber peel
and we gibber and Mash,
run, climb and crawl,
and inside
may be nothing at all.
Hide,
they will see our light
before we can see their shadows
cast into the night
Unhide,
and when we jump
they see their own ends as truth
and we see flesh
that will bleed and tear and yield
and our axe is foam and our saws lack tooth
but this, at least, is a power we can wield.
Haunted Spoons 