Luna Treetops

 

viso di neve colorato in grana

Morphic Slumber

...bound in the cestus of beauty, streaming out blithely into the beauty embracing repose...demonically absorbing everything, gathering all into its Saturnian poise...

 

Infatuation

Infatuation comes

Infatuation goes

and melts away

like spring snow

Kantian Imp

If Kant has a Nocturnal Emission 

must he inform the Constable?

An imperative commission,

because antinomies annul autonomy.

Faust's dog was no Poodle

But a black Dachshund 

Immanuel walks punctually

across the King's mount daily

as motley Owls soar aloft.

Air

Like pollen in the air

she tickles my nose hair

and wherever I may lay

she lays.

Heaven's Majesty

The constellate crown 

blooms brilliant to sight

a crystalline bow

of radiant smile

above Hunter's shield.

Her stellar tiara

waxes finely swift 

in starstruck eyes.

 

Winter's Cusp

Plumes of silver flit

with crisp gusts 'cross

blue scrolls above

Light hews, gold with grey,

as bonny birds trill 

sullen on stark limbs.

Mocking Muses

When words play cruel coquettes

and you're drawn to stubs

like puddle soaked cigarettes

the glacial hush snubs.     

Where is the tinder

for sonorous bonfires?

Pegasus' canter

sears what inspires.

It stills the inner ear

with apathy's drone

and the dumbshow vents clear

the muted chill of bone.

 

Sweet Groove

 

Sol's Gold Shafts Rise to Stroke Luna's Ascent

 

Text

"...the section you are reading interprets the text of your face."

Her Devastatingly Delicious Wake

She struts clam'rous ovations from a sumptuously clappin' derrière. 

With every stride her bounteous bosom bounces, straining her brassiere.   

The cocks crow and hens cry foul, windows tremble as the Skyline bows.

Waves of heat flood her wake, horned devils aflame to strip the blouse.

They burn double: from God's decree and her flesh's heavenly abundance.

Their pricks sing as spirits burn, such agony never gleans a glance

from those bright eyes and brighter smile as the deafening parade passes.

Women decry, hissing "She's too much!", and Men athirst taste bitter ashes.  

     

Highball Low

She has it all, glass in hand,

and speaks dry ampersand.

Words coarse as her skin

gilt a fulsome grin.

Beyond considering,

she abhors feeling.

The highball goes low

and all her friends know

if she scorns to stop 

she, not glass, will drop.

  

Squared Circles

Men stride in circles inscribing

a ring of wan yellow grass,

discarded halo of the 

Fallen Angel.

Concrete wall encloses them

and forms a square which binds

the cycle of their blighted footfall.

Serenading Angel

 

All Hallows'

Halloween is nothing to celebrate.

It should not be fun.

On my tenth Hallows' 

my Appendix nearly burst 

as a ghoulish German dwarf 

cruelly tried to make me laugh 

with his Swabian accent

while I writhed in pain.

It's no excuse to stuff your faces with sweets

(Which mother blamed for my malady).

When evil is let loose before Saints return, 

streets and sidewalks shall be Rivers of Blood.

Autumn Spell

Blanched yellow leaves become 

bright gold coins in Sun's smithy

The cool breeze carries your fragrance

like a benediction

Our hands entwined know touch 

shares more mystery than breath

An Old Thief's Testament

Chased chimeras for years

and life, the ultimate spoil,

will be pinched from me

by the subtlest hand.

Only death keeps score,

toe tags add up.

Jesus is the greatest thief of all.

He nicked eternal life from death

and, like a thief in this night,

returns to take mine. 

 

Méta II

Crisp air of your essence, 

clarity of its bouquet,

overwhelms all sense.

You mock my ardor,

but I will not surrender.

God was hardest upon

the most ardent.

I love the chase as much as capture.

I know both sides of rapture.

In your arms cast down or 

taken up is equal pleasure. 

Copenhagen

Lurid house-fronts line the banks

as tourist boats glide lifelessly by...

Songs never heard as shopkeepers 

toll waterways and patent every hue.

Smiles shine brighter than 

freshly minted coins.

Every boy and girl a budding 

Bounderby or Hetty Green.

This cashbox Venice that banished  

Santa Claus centuries ago... 

Where Soarin' Graveyards died hated 

and Jens cursed with his last breath.