How to Tread

pale the curtains
oh what's effaced
forgive the dead you hasty
once they've left
this awful place
no aquarium can contain we
the mourners gather
all chased in lace
every event a party
if the arsonist shows
her grinning face
then she ought pray they can restrain we




every time someone gets near
we act like we devolve into desperation
why settle for a drudging smear
we have some respect for our own station
if nobody can navigate to here
then we remain a sovereign nation
of only one perhaps... oh dear!
we're just one state called Consternation.



how clever do they think they are?
you can't outsmart a severed head
in every river in every bar
we'll follow where we're led
as sand hopscotching and winds exist
under this blank and staring sky
on mountain, in deserts, through forest mists
we won't rest until they die



She's a postcard sent and never viewed
smoking like it's her personality
a dingy room, a mildewed mood
her darkness smothers all vitality
What tenderness renders all disarmed and nude?
why, her torture and cruel brutality!



hot and bright and all we want...
expose the nerves and watch em wave
like fronds or a hand beckoning the grave
a twist of the ankle and that's the cover
say hello to old friends and lovers
dedications more dead than most
severed from our earth, our host
no more breath is left to breathe
now time to pray, get on your knees

A Quiet Morning

they're interfering with our geometry
it's silent but we can hear it all
again a victim of philosophy
the shrieking echoes from canyon walls
this time it seems we'll be vengeance sent
as opposed to a simple fall
we've never tasted the luxury of choices:
Vermin forever crawls




as ivory and blood in yellow sand
this infection rages
our memories are resorted and
so we forget our ages
Order in any way is
disemboweling
we prefer our history to be
towering
Memory is foam degrading
spume and storm retreat and fading
a party over no reason to stay
with the dawn revealing the disarray
Instant reaction is satisfaction
so burn all previous pages




two thirds of god already spent
one third remainder's all we've left
so it seems we're left alone
as the timebomb ticks.
We'd need at least six to feed our own
and get them up to their old tricks
this is a time when new gods are born
but we're past any sort of fix
riding on the coming storms
nice enough to be in the mix
just when it's getting really warm
remembering those already gone




we could all just be like copies
of people who came before
no need for resurrection
reincarnation's more efficient, sure
recycle all the souls on earth
no reason to make more.
But the only gods we've met are reptiles
animals, plants, and rocks
if such is the case then we suppose
that souls are just like socks
changeable and washable,
and they mostly come in pairs
if one is mated to the other
the more harmonious sets we'll wear




if we say we're clever (never)
then we'll tend the stones
some things are forever better
when they're made of bones
anyone can love in all kinds of weather
while the magnificent remain alone

The Calmest Tide

In this closed fell are all our hells
but nothing mars our skin
no claws can harm this iron pelt
as our fury boils within
struck silent by the clear blue truth:
We've all winds at our back
This time we won't reclaim our youth
instead we'll just attack



all we get is what we steal
borrow make or just create
discards and organs are a meal
we're only full if we just ate.
a ripping sort of shifting tear
our forest torn like paper tigers
pulled out angels dance like bears
handcuffed shuffle like a string of lighters
bobbing in the evening breeze
decorations for a child's desires
we're every one born on our knees
kneeling round a burned-down campfire




on every branch these casket nails
arrest or slow our fall
eternities seem to pass us by
as we come once more to rebirth's call.
Our siren's song of vengeful whispers:
We must have it all
Our hungry heart consumes all others
from greatest to most small




what's this we rise in sand and grit
this is nothing like how we remember it
something slithers hisses falls
on our face like a cannonball
dropped from a meter over our grin
tasting rust and blood again
there it our heart returns
not just our rage but our skin it burns
oh reptile what twist have you wrought?
thank your luck that we're already bought.