nsa

a few painful gulps with eyes clenched around
the unthinkable drought that about brings this irritable quench;
ripping acidic, a dry taste remains, and a burning bubbling boil at the pit of its stay.
a vigor, it's instant in thought and in vision, it seasons a groan and the highest ambitions,
but it drig drags downward, and whispers to us,
and mutters with tuts and godly apologies,
and a bright crimson glow that condemns across a chapped cheek.

luna

the sky breaks with the promise of day as
blubbering gusts raze the goldswept land rustling the
curled paper chimes, and swinging along beside the sunbaked street
signs aligned across from every corner to every other;

somewhere birds are softly coughing from the height of branches
shading the swaying grass to the rhythm of the blue note jazz.

o god

egad, the blinding terror of
passionate, fleeting moments
transcending reality in all of the
fury and truth and joy,
and flying the
living daylights from the
eyes of the waking dead

of avering

lines across the sky and down
and down the street, into the ground
or down the street and up again to scar the
starkest stars that drift among the ruddy clouds
along the listless lights that line the sidewalk
tile paths along the roadways' funnel, past the overpass
and under bridges until they meet to end in dry dirt
ditches;

the grid elapse the span of us in
every kind of conceivable quantity,
a-shed of all the unbeknownst to ride upon
the height of omniscient ghosts

continue onward, continue on;
the new bland moment is tapping its toes across
the cold steel floor in this waiting room glow.

the hours are long as they go counting down to
the old silver pond in the pale moonlit glade.

the hilltops sing across a glancing light bounces,
the noontime sinks to a dull sullen gaze

the slightest hint of a minute's twitch,
like conceals the jester
a smirk with each passing joke.

exultation

above the limitless noise from every which side
blows the bubbling flow of stinging autumn air
that bites the nostrils, ruffles nosehairs with sharp take of breath
on this, the morning-like, of otherwise frigid nights.

the moon is dreamt with such volume and glow, it
with spiteful hint betrays the sun's absence and
rhymes with the nihilistic sky.

quentin

oh you curious notion, how
is it that you flit across my mind with those
tiny pretty feet of crimson gold
sticky wet daydreams sopping
seeping deep within the
'vices of my brain?

your sun-kissed wings a-royal blue, they
flow and curl my tiny world,
a-mutter softly their mother's rhyme
while closing in with dad's embrace.