Poetry

DEATHWISH

Watch him paint,

as the Devil

whispers in

your ear.

Words form

above your head.

Is it paint,

or blood?

Hypnotic movement,

soothing voice,

come from

either side.

Dark thoughts,

red spatters.

Cold floor,

brain matter.

Matters not.

The invasion

has begun.

Deathwish

A phase

or passing fancy?

A dream

or cold reality?

Small bits

of broken glass

pierce the skin

and you see:

The Devil is you,

the painter is me

Coexisting,

fighting,

creating.

UNNERVED

I close my eyes, and see the parallel.

My mind's eye jumps the tracks.

I will open them.

Open to see reality,

consuming all at once.

Too much, so I will stare.

Stare now, in between the tracks.

Not committing to either direction,

unblinking, empty.

Empty clock bereft of hands

advancing forward, yet backwards I fly,

as the train barrels onward.

The wind is my hourglass.

Globules form on my forehead,

sucked away by the gale.

The hourglass strengthens.

The tempest is my timekeeper.

Stare breaks and eyes drift.

On the tracks now, not touching

the rails-

I sail Above, or is it through?

The vortex dies and time stalls.

Neither passing through

nor passing time,

I am rooted now.

The hourglass is empty,

The sands scattered

as are my memories.

Granules coalesce

And envelop me,

Smothering out

my recollection.

Wind begins anew,

And the tracks are uncovered.

I must choose.

FAIRY TALE ENDING

Fairy tale ending

Drifting skyward, over landmarks pocked and scarred by ruin

She calls to me,

ever fainter,

as if fading backwards, reversing field,

making waves in her wake.

Shallow breaths drawn, ever more pronounced,

disfigurement looming,

pain swelling,

like an ever expanding globe of despair.

Calling to the depths,

calling to the heavens,

calling out

to whoever,

whatever,

may listen,

may judge,

may absolve.

Sleep comes,

startled now,

by revelation and fear.

Drifting out of myself,

into another,

another dream rattles my cage

my mind.

enveloping,imploding.

Rest for the damned comes not-

not in this fog.

Perhaps an opening

to see the light...

it shuts now.

That is fine

fairy tale ending

drifting forward

under landmarks unseen

relegated to disrepair,

dissatisfaction.