Sunday, August 5, 2012

Late November

For words four words one couldn't find
So divine, the time to hide
The tiny tenacious machine
Spun through her mind

A double-helix to divide
Satin stained, it rained inside
Starless silence after the thunder
But with the power of lightning we loved her

Another did and does and so it goes
One heart stopped, and in a widower slows
Sight and sound and scent embellished
In hell that seemed a dream he relished

She built the sky, twice as bright
And in her name we shall take flight
An immaculate soul, forged in the furnace of the sun
With blessings for all, and lost memories yet to come

Friday, February 10, 2012

The Unclean Rider

Local light-skinned law enforcement
Made a quite obscene endorsement
Legislation, my dear old soul
Attempts to prevent my desire to roll

Yet I pursue The Night in my automobile
Rolling, like film on a reel
Mighty wind through locks I feel
A thunder storm in every wheel

Townsfolk gaze with greed, despair
Conquered by a steed so fair
And mouths agape at musk so rare
But I, for one, could scarcely care

Those who doubt or dare ask why
Have seldom heard an engine cry
Or pressed against a clutch so fine
Or felt a chill along their spine

For days, for weeks, for months on end
Obsession fixed on but one trend
My income now a shining heap
At last, rewards are mine to reap!

My mistress great, my maid, my wife
Agree I lead a wondrous life
Pursuing The Night from dusk 'til dawn
Indeed, I have it going on

Thursday, January 19, 2012

The Attention Deficit Diaries (Pt. II - Merciless Lee and the Factory)

What was once the swift and graceful motion of a feathered utensil elegantly grazing the surface of hemp scrolls is now a rattling box of keys with no resemblance to a musical instrument, in appearance or in range of auditory pronouncements.  It is a sinister cackling, but it gets the job done.  Can I follow some rules and disregard others without being called a hypocrite?  Can I be spontaneous, yet  civilized?  Can my memes of expression reside somewhere between quantum physics and theocratic fascism?  Fucking Lee.  Always looking over my shoulder.  Everyone has a Lee in their life.  He's not your boss, but he keeps you in line.  He's not your boss's boss either.  He is an independent, enigmatic entity that asks you strange questions, micromanages, and frequently adjusts his glasses.  He prowls the freshly waxed, tiled halls of this stainless-steel jungle, florescent bulbs bearing down and illuminating his nitrite-pink forehead.  Compulsive profanities lurk just behind his eyes, as furry forearms sway to and fro, like those of a more rudimentary primate, an old-fashioned ape.  Lee seems vaguely inhuman, and has likely been contracted by a sub-sub-contractor.  He is a merciless mercenary.  One-hundred and twenty-three degrees Celsius.  You nervously twist your blonde, brunette, and red facial hair.  Only one piece of gum left.  You have to wait until the machine cools down to forty, so you have a few minutes to consider how many people might die today, how many will be born, how many will have profound realizations, how many will give their lives for something they believe in, and how many of them will have been wrong.  Dead wrong.  And you still have time to forget about Lee.  But I am not satisfied.  Am I being held captive by arbitrary grammatical laws?  Am I trapped in some literary Abu Ghraib?  Is this a rare and unprecedented case of Stockholm Syndrome?  Maybe if I rhyme some of the time I'll be fine...