The Wicked King Wicker

A mongrel's coarse tongue spoke laws
to relinquish the man of his own flaw,
to commission events in Pelham Bay,
to set forth a course he would obey.

Sam's son shouted at Queens thrice,
and once in Columbia spoken concise.

The bloodied Bronx brought two more,
and four finally fell but not before
the Twenty Two of Hell would write:
"For now I say goodbye and goodnight."

The Duke of Burgundy

Surely I could have been ceaseless
and unending in the beginning,
with ever none the wiser;

And slept the days away,
using my instar to establish
seeds of doubt in secrecy;

And kept other cats at bay
with the aid of air and brush
until the realization of exodus;

Surely the nefarious and miscreant
would then shudder at sight
of the great Duke of Burgundy.

Luna

I sifted through the tinsel and the sand
with an ever-argentine and vespertine zest,
we played as children near the uniform monolith,
an obelisk for every star
lined the extending open sky.

Celestial oceans slept ashore
and ash fell from the wound
that never healed.

And yet, the tide
was featureless.

We ran through basins and mare basalt
until we reached the highlands,
and played cops and robbers in craters.

The Earth seemed so big,
when we were small.

We were still too close.

The imposing pearl in your view
is just one leap and one eclipse
from leaving you.

The moon seems so bright tonight.

Sol

Fallacy shines its best at dawn
in this stolen stoning age of grins,
and grimace fills the cup to the brim.

Solaced eyes find their comfort
in dirty dusk and dusty dreams, and
it all just seems too decadent to ignore.

Twilight suns find their brightest
for broken phrase and for evanescent seams
that line the gap and even try
to bridge this grand open.

The faded stars tempt upon forgiveness
of which I can give none,
but I still whisper softly in their ears.

They utter back, and I don't listen.

Deadly gardens of fire burn sweetly,
and staunchly; they engulf, and eat me.

A somber slumber no longer; seas topple
and the hourglass bursts like a dam, and
I let the white wave wash over.

Each grasp is for the present,
and yet, it still slips.

Drifting in complete composure under
swollen lids, and laughter begins to beckon,
if only for the moment.

Good morning, or not.

The sun seems so bright today.

Khaos and the Fall of Order

Foresight is simply realization of rhythm;
there is no fortitude in consistent repetition,
no doctrine except in destruction.
Fickle hyperons resisting at every turn,
the epic splash of Tiamat,
and a plight to the perjurer Marduk.
That which made will sink.
Tonight all in a quantum revolt
the gaping chasm will swallow us whole.
Watch the patterns dissolve.
From Tigris and Euphrates
came eyes of foam and waves
that would give visions of cinder and ash.
She smote and spewed with such charm.
Goodbye, Babylon. Goodbye, Destiny.
Fact and science will not endure,
nor feeble superstitions.
I will see it through to its dramatic end:
the dynamic disassociation
and failed modern determinism;
stand for nothing, stop at nothing, even
for Pythagoras of Samos, none in vain.