Widow

i have shed tears lately

too many for death

and too few for life

but just enough for poison

dripping from the fangs

of this human viper

or that black widow

all it takes is one bite

once to feel the pain

the burning in the pit

a cry out in pain

and shame

to be violated

by spindly black legs

too thin to support such a body

so wracked with venom

to strike any that draw near

and fear

yes

fear

inching up my spine

with the little click-clack

of carapace on bone

my heart feels like stone

ceasing to beat

dropping to my feet

with my brain dripping after

after what?

a nick, a scratch, a-

that's all it takes

in the cold dawn

so cold today

like everyday

your embrace is cold

and i'm numb with venom

i don't nurse my bite

i let my skin go white

then pale blue calm

no heart for my chest

no brain for my skull

just a click-clack

up my spine

on nothing left but

my bleached white bone.

I'm pulling the trigger with my eyes tight shut

Watching you dance, I feel like a hunter

In frigid woods, stalking unknowing prey.

You catch me with a small glance of wonder.

You fall to your knees in position to pray.

How can I fight a religion that way?

With that sudden look of recognition,

Knowing I'm the type of malcontent to say

There is nothing here for me worth seeing.

An absence here of a sense of being,

No facts but possession of the helpless,

You're on the ground praying and I'm kneeing

Your senseless, blank, peaceful form in the gut.

Sights set on the small wandering deer but

I'm pulling the trigger with my eyes tight shut.

I am lost in the fray

I am lost in the fray

where heaven and hell clash

with all the fury of a thousand angels

and demons

my demons

the lights are failing

I tremble at the touch

your touch

everything my body moves for

magnetic

and that which my soul abhors

because

well, because-

toss me in a hole

and bury me quick

I'm dead

I died with Him

because humanity,

our humanity,

died

and I yearn for the dirt

platonic reunion

with its cold darkness

where I feel at home

A frigid nothingness is welcome

but instead I've got embers in my heart

and they will never go out

never

for as long as I am

buried

or alive

I'll curse my existential anxiety

the crisis

knowing what I desire most

and yet finding that this body

has another plan.

Train Home

Anxious waiting for my absent train home

I cannot stomach time wasting abroad,

Sitting beneath the train station's high dome,

Waiting for a sign from a man named God.

Shunning silent stay I begin to plod

Out of the empty lobby I make my way,

Past sullen turnstiles where many have trod,

Into frozen air with gold sun's ray

Same sun that people'd kneel before and pray.

And I chose this walk alone and wand'ring

In this day that is but only one day,

In this world that was in need of laund'ring

It's clean, washed, hung, dried and nothing means more t'me

Than this chance t'walk and be endlessly free.

Winter

Winter is but the brink of something new

In the cold silence of the ice melting

Where the wind spends its time mostly asleep

There is an absence of the drip of dew

That only exists in the space 'tween time

Th'only moment when we can truly weep

After we meet the one person called You

The infinite pause that defies it all

Beneath the lake surface of the dark deep

Swims the only being to be sound and true

It arrives with the coming spring, rebirth

Only in its arms might we find true sleep.

With but one facet of chaos incarnate

With but one facet of chaos incarnate,

In which I have half a part to play,

The moon eclipses the burning sun

Life withers and dies ,on the ground I lay

How can one man ever hope to move the moon

It grows until it is all I see,

The hopelessly pale eye of a corpse-god

Dead as the cold and barren rock can be

It is not Satan that stares down upon me,

But the empty space that awaits all

We know that the candle will go out

The coarse rope will catch us before we fall

Dangle as our body reaches in

Where trapped in ice my essence resides

Like a body in the lost arctic

It is encased and dormant where it hides

Like a temple hidden in the Amazon

The eye grows until it blurs all else

The world is nothing but silent white

Where we only choose to look at ourself

So no one can see the overwhelming sun.

In the Profound Moments

Orange explodes with slow luminosity

over the edge of the world once flat.

It is in these profound moments

of most aesthetic brilliance

that the world comes fully into focus.

The movements seem defined

in fluid, absolute grace,

but what one knows is far less

than the glowing gold's embrace.

The fire light reflects

a not so hidden passion,

which rests in flesh beneath

the passion for the skin,

the touch of reproductive beast.

In the fading light of myriad love

all to be hoped for is companion arms,

the little rest of every single moment,

a little acceptance of each other's scars

A brilliant motive,

more or less like the sun,

is the cup of life for those beyond redemption

but those gifted it all the same.

All to ask if for one chance

to make the learning all the worth it,

into something more precious than gold.

But seldom does that chance come more than once.

That is what I am told,

so do not ruin the silence

with some statement or a sound.

Let it wander chaste, unbroken

'til your own bright light is found.

Patience please in the cold of winter,

as the fire light ebbs and flickers.

To utter a name is a moment of frenzy

in the heartbeat skip of two and the same.

I wish for it more;

I pray for it or

else I'm the one to blame.

Forget the rhymes and neat ordered phrase;

forget the pride and unwarranted praise,

it belongs not to me for I, my soul, was made

by the blacksmith pounding

and heat on the brain.

The furnace glows red in the case of my heart

like the edges of a sunset.

Wrap me in a blanket,

lay with me,

don't depart.

A Trip Beyond

shout the table long

a mile or so along

to the hatter at the end

his words are a song

heard above the throng

th'table has a bend

the hatter begins to send

the rabbit waiter around

the rabbit in trend

the rabbit to fend

th'hunger-making sound

with the five legged turkey

and the beetle bread that's ground

th'texture of jerky

the table cloth was found

off the newly dead

some guy the hatter calls Fred

who was an emu racer

and I start to dread

that he's baked in th'bread

but I'm pulled t'face Her

the color of eraser

from the flow of old red wine

she starts to trace her

want tha'I embrace her

with these arms of mine

but we're caught her 'round th'table

as the hatter starts to whine

about some fable

of blonde girl one time

"she was on a trip

they say the tea she would sip

in fact it was the merlot

turkey on th'tongue tip"

he said with a hat flip

then he let it go

in a flourish and a show

floating off into th'abyss

murmuring "you know,

the wine starts to flow

and you'll maybe miss

th'rushing green place known as home

where you'd hold the girl and kiss

beneath the blue dome"

cheshire kitty hiss

at th'giggle and blush

of the flirtatious red lush

with that wide-eyed long blue stare

young girl with a crush

hatter says to hush

lays the event bare

has a story he wants t'share

from a mile across th'table

in his high backed chair

for this is his lair

"here we don't label

things as you normally would

the Cain becomes the Abel

we throw of the hood

much as we're able

in that train of speech

you sir, I will begin t'teach

just how our fine system works

think beyond your reach

like spitting-blood leach

justice done by clerks

American-Mongol Turks

common everlasting love

and similar perks

like no angry smirks

that and the above

the future becomes the past

the push will not lead to shove

your marriage will last

with that girl you love

time has ceased t'matter

for I am the Mad Hatter

I command that you, sir, live

despite mind tatter

first is the latter

and Alice, that's her,"

pointing to th'girl at my right

"hold her close, never let go"

I look her in th'eyes

if ever, I know

for the second time

or the tenth this is my fair charge

the beauty wants one trite thing

wherever in time

we are, she wants me.