Stage

A heavy footfall on an empty stage
the canvas blank for the taking
sunken rope twisting round the grips
A linear tale told in the remembering

Gusts of stale air sinking slowly down
the lights now, the lights reflect off the plumes
and in the dusty, cobwebbed haze

a voice projected to the rafters
to the gods and the sinners who will hear
Token affections and dime-spun phrases
separate singularly between bleeding eyes
swords that will draw a picture perfect scene

Climb now, the anthill
Reach again, for the trees
The hare is hiding, and mother is hunting
for her babies, starving and blind

Bound by the stage, the universe intact
in imagination in sacrifice
the hands come dusting and the curtain drawn
with weeping flowers flying through the air

A drama unfolds in feigned reality
The backdrop a ruse
All the happy pretenders.
The stage, a plot to bury us under.

Bricolage Collage

Fury

six thousand jagged pieces
splintered
throbbing, robbing

the third eye
triangulating
the tree's roots spreading
underground round

slide down
the mountainside
make a mirror a magic tide

lift the skin until it
snaps back again

hear a familiar voice
on the invisible line
a crosshatch pattern in time

the gristle and grime
all the holy men have gone
to sleep

and in the shadows lurking
a silver tune bellows below
murmur in the chest

and the rest
a story for another day

burning the cinders
the fury and flame

pink black and braille