Stage face

He rests his head
Lolling just over his shoulders
As he were posed for prayer
Addressing one off of non-chalant
soliloquies like air

The vents point ever in
in deeper to his brain
past caverns of stage props where,
demons, devils, witches, and saints
Invite you all to stare

In him, such denizens
pace on the back mind
striving in a distinct hunger
with inkling towards the spots
To claim souls through virulent wonder

Watch them now, these beasts
how they play in his head
how latent, how pulsing
Drawn to where the fire blares
and soft hearts are listening

Never a show more to see
than the spitfire of his demure
for he takes away faces
in the flash of his little roar
and leaves always without traces

tips you to think:
Nothing is sure

Left

What's left to give?
Should I have held something back
For I want to show---no.
For I want to give---no
I want you to know
But what more exists
must i take those steps untaken
must I do which is undone
When I arrive with all possibilities
What's left to give.
The moon?
The sun?

Two

Two open
two eyes
two pairs
Sync swift
sync sound
sync soul
The pair of bolts darts
Speeding like the other
to the other
Crushing walls
crushing sights
crushing space
to crushing hearts
Two pairs
two sights
two syncs
two sighs

Null

Fornicating Fricatives
Pounding Pulcritude
Mangle like Miscreants in my May
Vicious Vowels
once only ornery
Brim and Boil in my Bowels
so Syllables Stagnate
While Impious Imitation Impregnates
Heaved to heart without Hurl
It Nully Nauseates

Chosen child

They could have chosen me
They could have chosen you
I promoted to sing
While you stilled
to think of everything
By this, I knew
They will have chosen you

As time pulls round
and I twiddle my songs
(stately, or of the common sound)
I'll squint my eyes
to look at mansions in the sky
not with loss
like some self-struck ague
But to remember:
They could have chosen me
But I'm happy they chose you.

Passage

It could have been brutal
It could have been weird
The passage to mortal
The passage to peer

Bloated anxiety
Subsequents ecstasy
Am I finished?
Is this it?
A stanza blasting
Nor room for more to fit?
Seems empty

Hold my calloused mind
worn about on spins of rhyme
In a course to run me blind:
Works of Worth Will I.

so rebirth
Pent up on heights
Miraculously climbed
so dive
down into the ground
Onto the knee
Without soliloquy

It could have been brutal
It could have been weird
That passage to mortal
That passage to peer

open

On an open wake
I beach my brine
I come to suck in the space
To soak out the misaligned

Sodium spill

Sodium spill
Blossoms bubbles of will
On a grey-drenched world
for a coat-trenched man
What a man he was
a buzz
What a man he seemed
he beamed
Now foraging streets
a ride he entreats
But no man ushers such a man
He's banned
Thrown out for his will
Into sodium spill
______________________________

Sodium spill
Blossoms bubbles of Half-will
In a grey-drenched world
For a coat-trenched man
caught under water
under pressure
The blue's peace
Deceased
Now foraging streets
he entreats
But no one offers such a man
their hand
He falls away in half-will
Into sodium spill

Low pressure

A low pressure sweep
I heard it on the news
It said: "Lock the doors
step back and snooze"
so the low pressure punch
Pulled people from morning to lunch
Up into marbled sky
Still sleeping
Still slowed
And roused them to rise
From the scarred and wry
With an omnipresent flowing sigh
Then benefactor wind
whisping through
whisping through
Pushed them back in
Into their homes
onto their beds
Grins growing in their heads

Sandal and Train

It slipped on soapy little sandals
Made of most modern mint and make
Unweildy, too yeilding
a hopeless dash to appealing
______________________________

A roaming Train
In the looming rain
A cacophonous blitz
and resounding wane