Dead canary

Stepping over innumerable dead canaries who bear my likeness strikingly, I embark once again on a perlous path thinking it my first bravery

As I approach a complex nexus of that which connects us to each other, I hear echoes from a voice redolent of mine, yet a mouth, I remember not

Chills consume me as I witness in the distant, stygian soot, hands holding, smiles growing, joy sowing, and life flowing; an eye witness to this, and to this, witless am I

The outline of a doorway burns through the ancient granite before my searing eyes; a load bearing wall shouldering the world, denying me a rapturous escape

I raise a hand toward the glowing brand and feel the warmth disabuse the darkness; a slideshow of impossibilities and impracticalities ensues

A bird man who flits and weaves through impotent masters and in-born disasters; a corruption of humanity who alights to the earth, in a cave, as a slave, to a grave

When only then I see my downy skin turning lemons and daffodils; I feel lightheaded, and fall toward the floor amidst the din of my tentative footsteps drawing nigh

art: by Zao Wou-Ki

Carrion on the carousel

Frustration rears its peerless fear as
fearless peers move forward; unveiling
avarice and hubristic expectation

He turns away his longing gaze in a
forfeit of forbearance; while life flies
by, his skin crawls to flee the flaying

Hidden eyes can’t hide the lies, when
time torments his tender flesh; through
tempestuously violent slipstreams

The gale of failure, whips like nine tails
in flagellatory avidity; the cat rending
meat from marrow, calm from sanity

A tumultuous duplicity of right and
wrong, outspread as wide asunder as
mytikas and tartarus, divinity and villainy

Confidence slain amid folly and shame,
only himself to blame; as the raptors
pick clean his final, delusional dream

No rousing claxon, no call to action; no
coming attraction or devilish distraction;
just night and day, carrion on the carousel

art: the cage by Peterio

Lost memories

He was once a boy, too,
Although I didn’t know him then
He was never one to share
His how, his why, or when

He grew
He loved
He lost,
He reared
He lived
He died.

Scattered in the mountains,
On an autumn’s austral breeze
What then became the resting place,
For his lifelong memories

His first scraped knee
His first real kiss,
His first broken heart
His dearest bliss,
His deepest passion
His darkest abyss.

I’ll never know of his best day,
Or if he recalls when last he cried
I’ll never know what he thought of me,
Or hear of the childhood he hid inside

I only have my own memories,
Which is half our story’s tale
Perhaps one day we’ll catch up,
In an austral mountain gale

art: Autumn Descends by Tracy Webb

The ring

The ring, everlasting; sometimes, unbidden, he can feel its annulus metallic chill, the phantom sensation and horripilation of an infinitely symbolic, twisted lemniscate; an unraveling thereof, which is no less forever

When möbius memories turn aback, he’ll depress the hoop seeking an idyllic, rockwellian innocence, one that he was never comfortable wearing; a pressing reminder of what has always escaped his grasp

Finitely symbiotic, the ring preys at the temple amidst the hoar, the seventh circle’s center, and he hears the clamor approaching nigh; gorging upon one another, the ring and he, teasing the hitherto elusive climax

Once removed, the cyclic debossment scars him for moments thereafter, before fading into numbed cowardice; an instant would change everything, a simpleton’s squeeze would repair the wayward id’s indiscriminate carnage

It is flattery of the sincerest form; for with every rosy impression it leaves, each blandishment it seethes from its cold, steel mouth, it draws heavy lids and heavier focus, though hasn’t yet the strength to draw a single finger

Scoring a merry-go-round imprint, a revolving rapture he ever bears, it extols echoes of peace through temerity and quells maudlin madness through casuistrous clarity; portentously, a searing ring for the ages, once thereupon the hammer falls

art: Q34 by Eric Lacombe