811 FEA

I felt my days were numbered
I felt the numbers going by for sure

Get in a bunker Jeremiah (not my
.........full name)
There is a reason I show it to you
.........in your sleep
You wanted an image
You said, nothing cryptic
You said, just show it to me
There it is, there it is,
........there
It has a pee hole and
........everything
Bring coffee and tea
........to enjoy
........and trade
........for your very life

Be In Charge

Kleptomaniac
........snorts goose down
........sleeping bag coats

What has he taken?

Taken
........a favorite blanket
........a house
................in this coat
................a house
................in all coats
................our houses
........................comfort us

Kleptomaniac
........snorts soot from
........shape shifting lead

What has he taken?

Taken
........a bullet
........a favorite blanket
................in the barrel
................a house
................in all pistols
................our houses
........................comfort us

Salt Water Is Coming Soon

What kind of trench is this
.........in my dreams?

Trench for water and life?
Trench for burying life?
Trench that gobbles the earth
.........around it, into it, wider, wider?
Trench that sucks down the shrouds
........of every kind, the first and
........last kind, kind over living God
........kind?
Trench that keeps the roads from
........sinking, stinking, swimming,
........with tires and oil and rain
........and rainbows of oil?
Trench that throws parties out its
........ditch, erosion, dirty dirt vacuum?
Trench that microcars of living cells
........crawl, creep, tiptoe, sneak, skulk,
........belly up to walking out of with
........a hunch?
Trench that invites the boards of every kind?

Build by me.
Meet by me.
Eat by me.
Buy by me.

Sacrilegious

I want nothing to do
Ever again
With muse

So I dig a trench
With help
From muse

Now put this on
I say
To muse

Blindfold in place
I shoot
My muse

Folded head to toe
Down goes
The muse

Soles face the sky
Bleed down
My muse

Dirt soaked in ink
Cradle grave
For muse

John Throckmorton

John Throckmorton
Gave up hiding
................for good
................it was
................no good
................no use
................gave in

His sin would find
Throckmorton out
................door closed
................hatch locked
................under
................behind
................camo

So he thought why
Take pride in pride?
................shame man
................get it?
................be zero
................be less
................hardly

Throckmorton prone
Drank his white wine
................crushed grape
................humble
................butter cream
................sharp sting
................kowtow

Dripping

He is legend
Crouched on
All fours
White washed
By stage light
One light
Side light
All highlight
Overexposed
No details
Except in shadows
And now jeans
Denim beat
To holey hell
Belt holes
In abundance
Overkill
We get it already
He is legend
Crouched
Laboring
Searching
For the past
Harnessed
On paper
In smoke
And blues
And sweaty handkerchiefs

Five Kings

i met five kings at the mouth of a cave
they were:
........................fear
........................cowardice
........................pride
........................lust
........................selfishness

cowardice laughed closely in my face
his breath smelled of regret:
........................hesitation
........................uncertainty
........................sweat
........................warmth
........................loneliness

fear stood behind cowardice, shaking
his eyes never stopped scanning:
........................terror
........................cowardice
........................hate
........................mayday
........................horde

pride never broke eye contact with me
held his chin up high, admitting:
........................nothing

lust watched them all wishing passion
wishing he could devour:
........................selfishness
........................lust
........................red
........................lust
........................consume

selfishness stood quietly behind them all
reading a book regarding:
........................mind
........................tongue
........................cowardice
........................glory
........................entitlement

i summoned that which resides in me
the Lord let my self out of its safe place
i told the five kings to lay before me
and they listened without hesitating
at the mouth of the cave my self stepped,
assisted by the undeniable strength of Him,
stepped on the necks of the five kings
and He slay them one by one by one
then hung all five by five trees till evening

Clementine

They were not on my grocery list
These sweet beauties in a box
Spain in cardboard and wood
Stacked perfectly, stacked sweetly
.........................Clementine

Spain sits square on my table
Centered, adjusted, stand back
Look how wonderful they are
Neatness conflicts with sweetness
.........................Clementine

Delicate peel begs for thumbing
Invites my nail to dig a crescent
To strip orange and white in one
Hide
.........................Clementine

The Fourth Wet Shroud

The fourth wet shroud
To cover this face
To snuff out breath

The worst three
The first three
Wet with suffocate breath

The fourth wet shroud
Will put me down
Bury my breath

The soil breaks
The clouds break
Roots of Babie’s Breath

The fourth wet shroud
Slowly eaten away
Slow humid breath

Down, down, down
The spirit goes down
Or rises in saintly breath

The fourth wet shroud
The first three
The worst breath

#4

Resplendent rain
Preceded by night
Preceded by clouds
White and pulled
Pulled like cotton
Batting stretched
Over a flashlight
The moon playing
Peek-a-boo
Until the gray shroud
Of mourning clouds
Gives way
To warm wind
Resplendent rain

Wet Socks

I will go back as far as I can
To the deepest shrouded mire of my memory
And what is the first image I see?
A sock
On a car antenna
Set against cobalt blue
A long silver station wagon
Parked on map-yellow beach sand
Giant oval car door magnet
AAA
My fingers clutching oil black hair
My tiny legs straddling my Pa Paw'’s shoulders
Facing the unfiltered violent sun
Smiling in unison

Know It All

What should I teach myself today?
The psychology of coughing?
The secret ways of the shrew?
Why milk curdles in some kinds of tea?
How to keep my gums from receding?
Why Truman Capote wrote mostly on yellow paper?

I will pick one and become an expert
People will say:
There is the guy
That knows why we cough without having a cold
The guy
That knows the extreme metabolism of the shrew
He knows
Something about acid in fruit teas
How to stimulate gum growth
The guy
That knows
From some seedy secret source
Why Truman Capote did what he did

Pamela Visits The Biltmore

I have misplaced the lid to cover my insides
I made a new one of aluminum foil
My guts don’t stay as fresh as they should
This happens every time she leaves

Everything I eat is shrink-wrapped in cellophane
I bask in the downright lowness of it
Until I start to lose the taste of her cheek
And depression is not as much fun as it once was

But it bucks the bard up doesn’t it?
To be alone, poorly fed, and unbathed
She will return and read this you know
You are reading it now aren’t you honey?

This is what I do when you go away
I become this romantic, pitiful creature
Excited to be alone and turning the color of fall
Turning bright orange until I’m crispy enough to fall

The wind breaks me off after twenty four hours
And what I would give to be green again
To feel spring and summer blow through the door
Wearing an unseasonably warm smile

Rick’s

What is so wrong with having somewhere seedy to eat?
To take in live music while people continue to enter
Handing their coats to the wait staff, a nonverbal announcement
Being made for all to ignore while sipping their wine
Everyone is paying close attention to the shadow whisperers
Listening without stopping their conversations
Hoping to observe that which is missing from their lives
Handshakes passing sordid information by the palm
Dressed to the nines for chivalrous back stabbing
Highballs and cigarettes and knives shining
Legs crossed and leaning back with a snifter
Comfortable in fancy pants
Try getting that at IHOP

I Want To Sit In The Middle

Grandpa has taken us again
In his primer gray truck
To hills away from roads

In the truck he sings
Always looking over at us
About lonely hobos

Silence comes at the part
Where grandpa tells us
He never knew his father

My brother and I want to cry
For grandpa and his hobo dad
The heater vent dries our eyes

Sometimes we drive for wood
Cords of apple orchards
In one foot sections

Sometimes we drive next to the Pacific
In search of blackberries
Finding thorns and blood drupelets

Today we drive on logging roads
For the elusive huckleberry
Enough for one pie or a batch of pancakes

Empty margarine tubs
Resonating plastic thumps
Of patiently picked berries

I see a picture of grandpa
Years later now
Standing in the woods

There he is in the brush
Margarine tub strapped to his tummy
Slightly, joyfully, off kilter

He looks surprised and sneaky
Smiling as always
As if daring death to come near him

“I dare you to come for me,
Because when you are done with me,
I will be done with you

And the berries will keep falling
Into my bucket
Enough for a thousand pies

Then I will lean against the back of my truck
In my favorite robe
And wave goodbye”

Kill The Envoy

Love the sestina
Hate the envoy

Say it’s a rule
Diversion not allowed

All the more
To detach them

It’s like Hitchcock
Strangers On A Train

Patient for six stanzas
Then shooting at a carrousel full of kids

2&5, 4&3, 6&1
Ain’t we got fun

Mrs. Lutz

Think a pink hue on to all things dark
Keep at it and everything turns into a trail
Old railroad lines converted for people in spandex
Bobbing head doll kids on training wheels rocking

Think a pink hue on dollar bills
Green looks better in peppermint
Envy the color of blood and milk
All mixed up and ready for change

Think a pink hue on hate
Love turns to love
Love becomes what it was
What it is

Think a pink hue on God
Looks much bigger now doesn’t he
Mercy and grace look the same
Jesus is the new pink

You can try another color if you like
But beware
Think a blue hue and you are asking for it
Think a blue hue and the world turns to glass

Pencil Shaped Car

I sit behind the wheel of my pencil shaped car
The idiot light flashing, “your words are ajar”

Behind an old Ford carrying five gallon buckets of words
I watch as letters slosh and spill downwards

The truck’s chrome bumper caked with layers already dry
A mess of letters and punctuation attached like black fungi

Helplessly I watch as one of the buckets tips over
Lower case and capital letters splash and splutter

My windshield wipers struggle to keep up with the spray
There’s an R stuck in the blade and on my hood an essay

And now behind me cars are sliding on words like slick
Tires smearing Baskerville font into one long lyric

It occurs to me that I don’t need my pencil shaped car to write
Just five gallon buckets full of words and a lid pressed tight

Then I could take them home and use a fine point brush
To write entire stanzas in a wrist-flick rush

A Sestina On Six Words By Sam Stroud

For several years I have been preparing for an explosion
Ready to do my part of the universal karate
Put my fist through anything palpable
Smack an alien in the face and watch him bleed milky
Drive to the ends of the earth to save Swiss chocolate
Forcefully take a girl with golden braids to be my sugar

If we are invaded and the time comes for Pixy Stick sugar
The colorful energy needed to exact my explosion
I will use the spent Sticks to stir my hot chocolate
Teach my Swiss miss the ancient art of karate
Then sit by the fire, eyes gazing at the milky
Waiting for the stars to put on a show palpable

She will take great comfort when the earth becomes palpable
When the light of the moon reflects off my face like silver sugar
And her eyes are all I see, blue and milky
The planets aligning inside our emotional explosion
Orion rolling out a galaxy to practice his karate
Mean time Martians researching green chocolate

And when they find the ingredient to interstellar chocolate
Their culinary terrorism will smell palpable
No weapon formed against them will stand not even Swiss karate
I will weep little powdered marshmallows for my sugar
Like foil envelopes my eyes will tear open in an explosion
Making all the letters I write home smell milky

Mother will read them to father while making their rice milky
And slowly stirring and boiling winter chocolate
Click click click a controlled natural gas explosion
Mom’s tenderized pork chop seasoned and palpable
Pork chops and applesauce and Dad mixes his salt with sugar
Sweet and sour doing taste bud karate

Passion to save dinner and the world not wasted in karate
With the men in their saucers making their green drinks milky
I still cry every time I hear the word sugar
My gold braided Swiss mistress drowning in green chocolate
Knowing that both of my dreams will never stop being palpable
While my eyes are open during synapses explosion