chance encounters
passing between charcoal stars
that move like dogs in heat

we are broken by
the cold machine
of isolation

looking for god
or words that won’t fail us
we take the shape of
possessed beer drunk souls
silently deposed
within a circle of sacrificial stones
we stutter and weave
through memories
and fortunes yet to be told

cobbled together with
bundled worksheets
of stationary discoveries
we are
waiting for love
waiting for clarity
waiting for the right moment
to die

half drunk and dead to the world
there’s a certain stillness
that demands creative attention

and now “he”
has returned
to the state of “we”
traveling down roads of
of a departed daily rhythm
the light is never quite green
and madness must surely ensue

cancel or save
remembrance of
a forgotten summer slave
permanent floweres engraved
on rotting minds depraved

and now even the flies tremble
at the spectacular calamity
of this thing called “art”

clutching at lost opportunities
like stubborn children
we are
pointed in the direction
of misdirection
as hollow masks
are burned beneath the fire
of idle hands

with hallucinations
and machinations
the tin man struts
to a minimum session
of divine division
as an alien eye
is carved upon the barn door
cats in trees, holy skulls
visions of what can never be
what does it all mean?

delusional reverie
with whispers from a dusty fan
carrying stale bedroom air
i can’t seem to forget the girl
her eyes haunt me
her movements taunt me
and from slow moving dreams
night is stolen
by a prophetic thief

at moments like this
the buddha sits
satirical
in his homemade bunker
sipping wine
and chewing on stained hours
in a pattern of perfect destruction