Black Jack Moon
Accompanied by the whips
of wind
owls scan the asphalt for
edibles.
The sun cooked
its sins, till
they melted with the
foliage of desolate roads,
into a sprinkle of
fireflies;
guides to the
beginning
of the end.
While we stay in tonight -
you promised
to paint me in the color
of smoke - the highways
come to life with drivers
cleaving their oysters, in
hopes
for the black pearl
to carry away sorrows
into the depth of the sea.
Wretched howls of the gray
wolves
form a backdrop
for the hollow yelps
of the shrews.
UNRESTED
Clasped onto your
wrist,
my fingers,
tenuous veins pulsating
black.
Your love-soaked lullaby,
reaped hollowness
a deracinated blossom
nobody sees.
As midnight swallows your
voice,
your body, perfectly
paralyzed in reverie.
Outside the door, the
dead
of the moon shadow,
traces of yesterday melt
foraged birch trees,
along my heartfelt wish,
to silently surrender this
fretting soul
to your feet.
A ruckus of yellow
jackets, broken wings and all,
becomes one with wiggled
roots of an ageless tree,
the stars paved the way to
a meadow,
so familiar, like the
splendor
of a heart ripped out.
I tuck you in, as the dusk
canopy
tucks in he moon,
its light enters you,
and your smile
is an evanescent gift to
me.
A VAGABONDS'S DREAM
Middle age prowled
with feculent
windows
and soul-induced drawings
of
thirsty landscapes,
cloudless spring skies
and succulent cacti.
Big dreams, once
stowed
in a blithe corner
are now cavorting.
A mountainside-peace-filled
shed,
a bucolic drop of liberty
ahead of the endmost
rays
flickered goodbye.
Patience,
a disintegrated dusty
pair
of deer horns,
hung abandoned on the
wall..
His voice however; still
majestic,
as the Mississippi;
home of his forefathers.
If not in this life,
then perhaps in another,
he thought;
tough as a snake,
swirling free
toward incandescent skyline.
