Ode to Nicolaus-of-the-Sun

thy faintest contour
stole away
my consciousness of mind

the gods had draped me
in a realm
of excess exquisite

chests indulged
of selenite did slough
with bare refulgency

merging strikes
barbaric heaving

maleness
manacled in chainmail

criminal
didst cup constrictive

summoned heat
from sweetened friction

visceral
precipitant

banded strands
stretched tenuously
strung with statuesque erecting

flesh of cryptid cusp
and blustered hue
imbrued from brusque abrade

strapping
with a sturdiness
to beckon vice
from days of yore

swore studly forms
of ardent study
hours long and arduous

Sir Nicolaus! i cry
what thoughts besiege
my frail composure

compromised by rippled
thew with pulse of potent impose

ecstasy encompassing
his sexton arm’s saxon embrace

brandishing a brawn
to render
every knave his pawn of privy

lash thy leather-laden fury
leash mine impure soul
with haste!

douse me
in thy verse
triumphant

trenchant
as the lunar blade

bathing in thy
breathless inquest

trouncing
like a bison herd
at the hour
of forbidden dusk

hoarding hesitation
forming sedulous
below

shouldst thy barren breast
e’er hover
skies of supple
silk embed

the flames of brooding
wouldst impend
with trilling prod
of importune

like surging wells
on crescent shores
imploring swords
of sowed release

lonesome rogues
dealt swift
a sweltered
sun of melting
auric fleece

bound like mured barbarians
gone mad
with torturous vexation

strident thrusts
of jutting bulge
and urgent bender
banned by lawmen

turgid girth swoons
swathing growth
doth ghastly
fill tumescent eye

pinning this supine
confliction
to a bed of fallow dross

O my precious Nicolaus

let us not fall
remiss

like pistils
sifted into dusted dreams
of lust lamented

let us now succumb
to rubble
amid subtle
swells combusting

~fini~

Wand of Levant

slumber
of saffron
and fuschia
release me

beyond
the bleak desert wall
ceaselessly arid

desiccant seascapes
secluded by sand-chime

soft planes
prohibit
a treason
of privy

siphoning sweat
by the swelter
of swoon

only a midsong
of autumnal tertian

daring descrier
could fly by the borage

brandishing
brushed silhouettes
kissed with sopor

lulling the languishing
planet in spirals

petaline prosody

cistern imbrued

weft in wisteria
wand of Levant

let the Vellela wind
wend you my way

withhold
and i will
most willingly wither

awaiting
on solemn
shore’s wallow
awash

[image credit: Claude Monet]

Hollow

this pithy endeavor

shadows of dust
masquerading through time

i looked away
laughing

returning
to barrenness

the warmth
of her touch

once
insisted eternity

how quickly
it vanished

seen
through open eyes

this sand
shifts beneath us

swallowing memories

until we are hollow

devoid
of our sentiments

i still walk beside her

footsteps
in spectral snow

when all
turned to nothing

and she was no longer

and i

left behind

[image credit: Odilon Redon]

Ode to Zechariah

long before light
cleft the heavens in twain
a movement
of manhood emerged

unlike the unsavory
dissidents prior
his was a station deserved

he fostered conviction
amongst the rapt populace
stoically instilling mindful revolt

fully apprised of philosophies spoken
unlike static sophists consisting of molt

fervent emotions born of empathy
ever consuming his radiant heart
salient locution so poignantly posed
lingered long after he bid to depart

tales of his august aplomb echoed through the vales
prose poised to avail the downtrodden denizens

parlance empowering dispelled compatriots
apposite to proletariat wards

forged in the fires of familial defect
stuttering sopor
societal ire

nonetheless, pwning the epic drum solo
from “too hot for teacher” when he was but twelve

not having given an “F” he sought “T”
and tempered his mind with the breadth thus required
of the scant few i regard as elite
he is one by whom i’m duly inspired

Deep within this tattered husk lies the hope
to someday avow this Marxist of a man
of every last tender kiss wrought by his words
intended for naught but to better this land

This Pill

how is it
this pill
grants me the will
to carry on

it appears
as nil
however, still
i’d marry one

vicodin and valium
lorazepam and lithium
temazapam and tramadol

i kinda fucking want
them all

even if their glory
ever fades
into diminishment

issues anticipatory
pervade with omnipresence

what have you
got there
and would you care
to share
the love

if not
tell me where
might i repair
to scare some up

methadone, morphine, and molly
oh by golly gee
they’re great
opium evokes opining
oh please god
don’t make me wait

it might be
you think of me
as being a heedless hedonist

ah, if you could only see
what burdens
doth my life consist

rue the day
you ever have
to compensate
to gain composure

caustic truths
beyond control
servitude of lifelong indenture

dare not judge
this “crutch”, you say
is much more
than your
dearth of knowledge

currently facilitates
go suck on a
whatchamacallit

p.s. i don’t mean
the candy bar. . .

Science

to see you

is to understand

the urgent sway
of gravity

the spectrum
of infinite hues

precious molecules
in bonding

you fill my primal senses
with the knowledge

thought divine

Perilous Sky

my truth existed
somewhere
in her opaline eyes

a timeless visage

dangling moonbeams
from the edge of oblivion

muted by the dismal
desert sky

silently
she drove an erubescent arrow
through the sorrowed vales
of a wailing echo

which impaled my imperfect heart

i followed her flicker

’til the trail
led me to an apparition

which dissolved
into a parasol
sprawling with mesolite

then she vanished
into the night

[image credit: Kay Nielsen]

Luminary In Her Dearth

adrift
amid the vapid bedlam

palliation sought
eluding

stinging mistral
stretching onward

unseen
through the looking glass

left
to bare futility

lorn
where languid life doth linger

mistress lost

the first
the last

as she alone
compelled the stars

to loom anew
the constellations

lucid whispers
shaped her lips

like lucent kisses
illustrating

dormant creed
of freedom’s virtue

solitary
heart-sworn wisdom

salvaged from a wonted way

of this frail earth
where only fools
and martyrs
of demented mind

stand to find
a disposition
sound of spirit

. . . listen –

for her’s is a legacy
of love

luminary
in her dearth

and presence
redefined

 

 

[image credit: Vittorio Zecchin]

Petaluna Linger

awash
in coils of amber
umber

and slumber
as autumn awakens

a solemn breeze
seizes
lofty trees
in lucent columns

a gauntlet
of ambient umbra

born the republic
of czechoslovakia

briefly
a voice could be heard:
“call me ishmael”

forces of intrigue
colluded in union

to bring forth
a most inconsequential
kismet

through mistral moons
into mellow mons

from stumbled startings
to fallen ends

asterina anomala

sweetness
of a serene dawn

plush fur of eternal purr
fills my pillow
ever brimming

buffering
this astral seraphic
kitten cabal

[image credit: Ivan Bilibin]

memories like these

cruisin’
in a sky blue pinto

nineteen-eighty-six
or so

through the foothills
of tujunga

headed to the old rainbow

pockets emptied
at the castle

somewhere out
in sherman oaks

squandered
trying to conquer strider

level four
was all she wrote

swinging
on the rings
at santa monica
beside the pier

followed by a stop
at woolworths
for some penny candy fare

frantically we’d beg our mom
for change when came the ice cream truck

but when we finally raced outside
most often we were out of luck

garbage pail kids
lik-a-maid
bazooka joe
and pixy-stix

pelon pelo rico
big league chew
and candy cigarettes

gotcha bracelets
vision street wear
swatch watches
and jelly shoes

members only jackets
were the only thing
not neon-hued

weekends when our friends slept over
mischief would soon fill the air

regretting
forgetting
to have chosen truth
instead of dare

helpless
at the mercy
of my older sister’s
bumptious best friend

ceaselessly
accosting me
to follow her
into the old shed

i was far too busy
rocking chopin
on my tape recorder

fostering the nuances
of burgeoning mental disorders

not to mention
perfecting my hand-to-eye coordination

come the day
when playing nintendo
would become my occupation

memories like these
drift through my head
amid the desert twilight

where this heart bleeds cali love
and will until the day that i die

(pictured is myself on the left with my friend David O’Neil at Santa Monica)