Florid Moons

fervid doth my heart display
upon the slightest thought of thee
dormant dreams arise anew
when florid moons sing incantations

sordid affectations
of this wastrel’s world disperse to naught
beneath the sheath of shadows
and the solitary quell

knowing all too well
this quietude will fall
by brandished sol
its call belies our silent reverie

ere the dawn bestows its blessing
lonely vows bleed vesper’s veil
plots of untold errant solace
lost amid the hour’s assailing

muted miles of sloe and slumber
hapless, by the sky’s refute
once consumed of aural umbrage
eyes beguiled wept rapturous woe

life in dulled gray street’s meander
sights and sounds of pandered plight
such effusive flights of fluster
never would we find profound

ours is of the hourglass sifted
leave the heedless hordes to wrest
we remain unscathed by fires
hailing from the hell-bound rust

[image credit: James R. Eads]

NES kid

in my pixellated form
i would save the world
from boredom

swarming hordes
on stormy seas
as captive of
a dream alluded

thoughts of torment
sought reprieve
in redoubt granted
by its heeding

a young mind’s wrest
in secret worlds
of vested heart
and truth obscured

the only thing
that i could hold
amid darkness
beyond control

how many like me
found escape
in plastic boxes
muted gray

to stay the wrath of
conscious realms
a fated passage
most profound

the untold burden
of their “concern”
cast the mould
struck bridges burning

grim projections
glowing screens
protection
from the wounds unseen

a NES kid
who had fought his wars
through cartridges
on broken floors

Furtive Moons

there are only so many metaphors
that serve to justify this pain
so many words
chewed up
and spit back out
onto surfaces
whose purpose
carries all burdens

these feelings are like water
journeying alone
in a fearless freefall
crashing into the earth below
to join the fates
that all have known

still, each fragment
leaves its mark
for others to embark upon
in the hour
of our exodus to exile

the skies belong to one
as one to all
as life itself
bleeds into the eyes
at the horizon

we take our tragic pittance
wrought from anguish
each within the alchemy intrinsic
to their own

to spin the loom
and weave majestic tapestries
of triumph
to share the secrets
intimately held
by furtive moons

In That Darkness

it is only
in that darkness

unburdened
by the sun’s insistence

when the vilest
of creatures vanish

do we assemble

in legions
of hypnagogic afterthought

to worship our liege
of argent gloaming

like romans
in their own day

we take
to excess

to banish the dross
of existential blowoff

which echoes in these chambers
of mitochondrial horror

with implore aimed
at staying all tomorrows

whilst stranded
in the dregs
of yesterday