Mirage (in red)

a mirage appeared
midst the desert
in the parking lot

fiery red sent shadows
pushing light my way
over cracked asphalt

blood red thick with life
flowing over faded lines
and out to the street

rose red with vibrance
elucidated fragrance and
highlighted features:

oversaturated with color
the mirage collapses
into a visionary moment

sunrays summer song
bleating heat-filled concrete
beating me in place

I will sit and stare
illuminated hope
guiding light solar flare

these sacred moments
dreaming life into color
flowing off the canvas

into meaning

my sheltering shadow
finding its cave emptied
emerges as a bold red

this town

painted red

in graceful touches

dancing

color invites itself

and entreated
will take your hand
in rhythmic motion

ours steps

empty lots

in prismatic ardor

dreaming

beautiful night sets in

stars pinpointed
grasps our imaginations
sailing spirits

away

a series of related non-sequiturs

How do I look today?

Did you take the garbage out?
And welcome to the Situation Room starring Wolf Blitzer.

Did you watch the game last night?
I'm bored.

Brittany is pregnant again?
Why is it snowing in April?

What would Jesus do?
Did you hear what that bitch said about me?

Freedom isn't free.
Every farm needs one of these.

Please dear, not tonight.
I'm so sorry.


Love it not an end.

At our ends, we may find
what is missing?

waterwheels

antiquated waterwheels
spindly ripples and creaks
those currents driving
mechanical motion

I love them
in their simplicity

you may have seen me
staring into the wheel
watching water splash
off weathered boards

but you wouldn't have known
my mind locked in time
couldn't have carried
any gentle conclusions

I love waterwheels
they confound me
impossible existence
spinning in simplicity

Simulacra of our Lives

I.

I stumbled upon you
brilliant in shining
motions cast along
these heights.

I mistook my hands under-
taking as independence.

With certainty
clock towers clanged
traffic roared
and the weather
progressed in rhythm.

When I dream
you'll know its me
dreaming of you.

II.

I sought you out
brilliant and shining
ambling upwards
to those heights.

Your golden breeze dis-
possessed me with ease.

The clamoring city
rose and fell as one
breath. You blinked
convenient sun away.

When you dream
I hope you'll feel
my burgeoning presence.

III.

You were standing
brilliant and shining
with gentle gestures
on our heights.

There was nothing to be
had in this summer sun.

The city's pulse
shimmered in decay
as night angles in
new deserts and remiss
quietudes of memory.

When dreams form
we will seek reprieve
from sickly repetition.

IV. (I)

Stumbled brightness
movement this high.

To hold me without
reflective despair.

Each sound the next
thru corridors skew
anteriors of seasons
timeless solstice
between us.

Recurring dreams like
ocean waves crashing
then cascading to shore.

deserts

a man woke in the desert
to the sounds of debris
rattling against rocks

this is home
desert is always home to man

he carried his water
in a weathered skin
savoring each drop
as the day unfolds

he imagined everything
so vividly he was there

and the moment someone
met him in the desolation
his imagination failed
and the desert swallowed him

the desert belongs
to man

just try -
make him feel at home

Tragic Beauty

I wore beauty on my sleeve,
her name was Alice - no - Avalon

no...

She has a way of making you
forget. I dressed up Sunday feeling
Friday and by Wednesday I thought it
Monday. I don't remember
what happened but it felt like
hearing the sounds of words as music
texturing the walls of Athens

(Athena?)
with wind, song, sorrows, or arrows.

What poem are you today,
if I may ask?

Beauty is the strangest illusion
exploited by the Greek spirit.

Tragedy: Dionysus and Apollo united. In-
toxicating horror wrapped in salacious
textures making metaphors out of manacles
cast on us by oracles. Holding onto hope
however we can until untimely ripped from
the wombs of our souls and our eyelessness
still does not guard us from our fates:
never to be protected.

but the tragic moment is so important

time slows down in vivid color rhythmic

breath and perspiration scintillating

constellations in meditative recoil

Dionysus burning

while Apollo drunk
lost track of time

covers his eyes
from the sun.

Arrested imagery sweltering
just above sleeves tattered
with forgotten names of,

well, you know who you are.

Changing Dreamscapes

I was wearing a tuxedo
large and imposing
as if my body deep
inside the clothes
was sheltered by a sort
of film noir armour

stadium theatre seating
black walkways and walls
with a large platform afixed
between the balcony and us
lower people placed below
gazing upon the stage

the show started with music
beaming from the mouth
of a blue dressed woman
careening down the aisle
screeching operatic notes
echoing the room full

each presenter greeted sonorously
eluvial blast painting
meaning into motion against
black suits and white dresses
in some sort of award ceremony
beholden to no subject matter

the irony complete when I
pulled from my seat am pushed
up the aisle to be introduced
by the blue woman's flurries
casting a spell upon the audience
creating light upon my soul

with terrible ease the music
turns sour as if harpies
stole her voice ripping
notes through stale air
leaving me to stand alone
in terrible musical solitude

the audience knew me then
as an imposter belonging to
nothing but bad dreams always
ending with sweat and panic
blurry eyes and questions like
- for what do I deserve these dreams? -

and then midst the booes
a gentle hand grabbed my arm
pulling me away from all
negativity which has defined
my dreams surrendered ceding me
anxious under foreign blankets

instead I was comforted
and defended by a voice
neutralizing the music
with calming words that bit
through black bitterness
lifting an anchor from the ether

I just wonder
how did you know to come
to my dreams?

everything is changing
including sleep itself
saved from the sounds
my dreams
for the first time
comfort me

I remember
not once did I set sight
on the stage

I am certain it
would have been empty

I remember
your hands
full