Time Drifting

There was a moment
Of absurd laughter
Footsteps on sand
Navigating the darkness
Within and without
Followed by a comforting silence
A certain knowledge of transcendence
Without a need to fill the air with chatter
To clutter the perfect absence
Of sound and of light
Taboo and norms
Clothing and courtesy
Communication and comprehension 

The harsh winds recede
Black water at low tide
A deserted shore
Transforms into a desert
The dunes become a mountain range
Obscuring the distraction
Comforting the  lost fragments of light
Of a distant archway
Of illuminated pillars
And gardens of wild fruit
Until the sands and mountains also roll back
Into the dark ocean
Of shifting time

Caligula's Concomitant

Cautiously, he steps across Caligula's concomitant 
Which forms a long, curved, polluted stream 
Flowing in the wrong direction
His feet seemingly defy gravity 
He floats through every step
Never falling into the suffocating material below
Rather, the mass of strange black matter
Is precisely what holds him up 
And carries him to the other side
It is hard for him to be grateful, though
As the dark material is the reason
He was initially forced to move

Humor and Dreams

There is an old man
Who I've known a long time
Living downstairs from me
He used to tell me humor
Was number one on his list of the most
Precious things on this Earth
If a person didn't smile
He had the talent to change that
His charisma always shined
Sometimes brighter than he wanted
In recent times, he's been quiet
He doesn't talk about humor
He doesn't try to get people to laugh
Instead, he carries a shovel everywhere
And when he finds
A soft patch of soil, he digs
I asked him what he was digging for
And he told me dreams
Which are, of course, the second item
On his list of most precious things
I don't know why he has to dig for them, though
Perhaps he buried them before
He discovered humor
And now that it is gone,
Perhaps he hopes to find
The next best thing.

The Expanse

On an uncharted, soil-less
Expanse of metal and steam
Hissing sounds of valves
The whirring of lubricated parts
A repetitious machine
Stirred out of rhythm for an instant
But was quickly corrected
By the surrounding machines
This was something that had never,
In previous operations, occurred 
Yet, it had been planned for,
Accounted for,
And the processes, the controls in place
To correct the error
Immediately reacted
Setting off a wave of occurrences
That had also never happened previously
The precise perfection
Of a thousand planned motions
Made imprecise by a fraction of time
Displaced by the steel hands of chance
The ripple traveled across time
Heavy vibrations penetrate form
As the collective weight
In spite of its perfect symmetry and balance
Rotated the mass of its whole
Contorting and pulling
Shapes from shapeless
And shapeless shapes
Settling into a new collective
Its deformity becomes the new mold

Coils

A coil tightens with every movement
Each struggle is a new bruise
Blood and crushed bone pressed to the surface
The shape of man transforms
Into symbols of currency, pleasures, and pride

A suffocating air hovers above the court
A lawn of dust replaces the lush green
Carved stone, marble, and priceless metals
Coat burning rubble, scattered pieces of clockwork
Under the monuments built to honor progress

The great buildings tilt to opposite directions
Their windows are intact only at the top
But like everything below their oasis
They will also succumb to the fate of the foundation
That falters and decays in the struggle against time

The Grip

Listening to the sounds
Of an army marching
From the North
He prepares a shelter
And buries his soul beneath a barricade
Then he waits for the sky
To open like a fatal wound
To wash the salt away
His steady hands build a fire
As his knees tremble
Knowing the warmth will be irrelevant
Once his grip is cold

The Ferry

The ferry slowly moves across the river
Oblivious to a passenger left behind
Even if he was noticed
The boat cannot return quickly
So he sits and waits at the dock
His feet swinging over the water

He marvels at his inability to catch up to
Something traveling so slowly
He smiles and laughs at the inconvenience
Because there is little else he can do
But to pause and enjoy
A sunny day with a view

Of ships and barges and passengers
The captains and their crews
Transporting a precious cargo
Creating a massive wake
That travels past a liquid line
And gradually dissipates

The completion of his list

A simple display on a red table
Facing a window with a view
Of a great inheritance
Reveals a few important artifacts
A parchment scroll bound by a gold ribbon
And sealed with royal wax
Containing a list of plausible fantasies
And of rare, but tangible goods
Inked ornately and calligraphic
Of what the master plans to do
And the things he plans to consume
Before he dies

An inventory of what has been accomplished
What he has tasted and what he has not
Is meticulously guarded
Anticipation of its completion
Grows with each passing day
That he may finally break the seal
And fulfill the prophecy it contains
Next to the scroll
Is a crystal bottle filled with a rare, old brandy
The finest that can be obtained
And only available to the most exclusive
Members of his club

Near the bottle is a snifter
Resting on its side
With a candle under the balloon
Warming the contents
As he carefully turns the glass
The air of the room fills
With the bouquet of the heir's drink
An unlit parejo awaits a V cut
And awaits a fire to be lit at the tip
Just as the loaded pistol to its left awaits
The completion of his list

The Heat

The heat presses forward
Unsure of every movement
Doubting whether it can sustain motion
Progress stands in the way of progression
Force resisting force
As the temperature slows
And the force kneels
Still crawling
The heat is converted into spirit
Steam released with the turn of a valve
Only to be pressed against
The repetition of an outer layer
As the pressure again slows
And the potential grows
Two forces in opposition
Waver on the dust

Sun drops in millennium

Sun drops in millennium
Seashells and tide
The fallen remnants of change
The stalling lament of time
One piece of God's skeleton
Decaying light at dawn
Spreads like heated paraffin
Thins and then it's gone
The glowing eyes of majesty
Swirling stare of hate
The treasures of an empire
Glorify the State

What Would Tomorrow Be Like?

What would tomorrow be like
If I wasn't dead?
Would something change
To give me hope instead?
Perhaps I could cry
Show a vulnerable side
Without fear of becoming
A cautionary tale
What will tomorrow be like
If I'm still alive?
If I find the courage
To survive
The endless reminders
Of my poor decisions
Failures, shortcomings, and lies
What would tomorrow be like
If I wasn't dead?
If I traded insecurity
For a confident head
If I was allowed to feel sorry
For myself without being judged
Beaten, flogged, and bled

The Forbidden Paradise

Resting on the boundary of reason
A place intended for the unseen
Divided by a sheen residue
Separating light from white
Because of a mutual camouflage
Both sides remain unaware of the other
Until a taste of magic dissolves the residue
Causing the darkness to escape one side
Causing the light to take form
Shadow gives shape to the mass
Observing a new awareness
Seeing the unseen
A gaze into a wild unknown
Returns the stare
A light passes into the other side
And the absence of reason
Propels the illumination
Of a forbidden paradise  

The Windless Sea

A current pulls a fishing net
Across the windless sea
Snaring life and habitat
Over the ocean floor
A bundle of captured dead things
Sandy, salty twitch
Strangled by the ambiance
Of lifeless, swirling fish

The sails are drawn
The oars are gone
The splintered boards float away

The crew scatters
From the empty raft
As if they were insects
Or scurrying rats
In all directions
Except to shore
To an unknown landing
And unseen form

From the height of illuminated sky

He watches the sun as it
Arises past signs
Stretching his wingless body
To the top of a tree line
Watching the light decline
Into a field of green and burgundy

Golden treasure, buried pleasure
Bones, roots and spirits petrified
Unearthed and excavated
By moonlight and wine
Until the morning arrives
Compelling his climb

She gazes across the divide
Fondly, she toils
As she reaches the soil
From the height of illuminated sky
To touch his lips
A first and final time

A delicate balance

A delicate balance
Between aficionado
And delicacy
Invents a crisis
Of prey overwhelming predator
An avalanche of food
A stampede of rare meat
Engulfing the pollution
Filled with toxic chemicals
And byproducts
Every lawn becomes a garden
Every flower is a rose
Each stem covered with thorns
The sewers fill with wine
And the heavens rain
A delicate sauce
From clouds of exotic smoke

The Machine

Seeking a cure, he swallowed a machine,
And felt pangs of nervous animosity
Fearing his stomach could not coexist
With the complex mechanism
He changed his mind
A moment too late

The machine coarsely descended a path to his core
Painfully expanding the passage
He tried to vomit the device without success
The entrance narrowed and bruised
His gag reflex was not strong enough
To cough the machine out

Feeling the transformation inside him
Strange wheels and misplaced levers
Unknown cogs and mystic sprockets turned inside his belly
Their mysterious functions transformed
Each motion into energy and light
Until his tears dried and his coughing ceased

The Elementals

Communicated by a buzzing overhead
The light bringer and the death bringer
Both one and the same
Jumped across thin air
Scorching the ether
Leaving a trail of dust

On a field of fine powder
The winds swirled and coiled
As poisonous, metallic clouds
Leaped over a tall fence
Dancing across a highway
Of empty containers

The buildings groaned to a visiting breeze
The roads and the bridges
No longer bearing the support of daily traffic
Crumbled and joined forces
Married to swirling clouds
Of dangerous, corrosive Elementals

The Farce

As the great play ended
Without meeting expectations
The anticipation was a let down
Emotions ran flat
The narrator stood one last time
Making a final summary of events
The confession he gave wasn't shocking
Nor was it any relief
For those who had given the production everything
It was simply an acknowledgement
Of something quite obvious
And it ended without resolution
Intended to leave an audience in suspense
But they quickly became disinterested
And forgot the whole thing
As their lives played out
On a greater stage
Above the costumed farce

Tilting

Tilting, moaning, and left to crumble
The iron structure is held up
Only by its patina and shape
Dissolving like a rusty solution
Into the waters below
Saved by rogues vines
Hampered by nesting feral
And abandoned eggs
It stares toward the sand and rocks
The salt and the sea
Waiting to be carried away
To the other side 

Cascades

The shadows bear a familiar scent
Moving across the highest points
A floral bouquet, a hot kitchen,
a hint of perspiration
Traveling to a cascading absence
of sound and memory
The audience lies still, unmoving
Unrelenting until the eyes close
And the dark images dissolve
Upon plaster and rock

The Millstones

I watched a man caught between a pair of millstones
Struggling to breathe as they slowly crushed him
Pressing his internal organs to their limits
Fragmenting his living skeleton into many pieces
And yet, he survived, persevered, and even seemed to enjoy
Defying death, tempting death, taunting the millstones
Until a sharp piece of bone broke through the barrier
Of the man's skin, his seemingly impenetrable armor
Was too thin and too delicate to defend against bone and stone
No longer laughing, he fainted at the sight of his own blood
Undone by an inside forced out
As the millstones red dominance, center upon irrelevant laborers

The Answer

She cannot see the blood that spills within
Nor can she see what bleeds without
Hollow greetings, rhetorical questions
"Are you OK?"
An absent expression on the pale, reflecting face
Should be answer enough
"You seem like you are somewhere else"
Posed as a question, set as a trap
But in reality, it is nothing but hope for reassurance
A delicate balance for a person pressed from both sides
Caught between two worlds
Simultaneously torn and pressed

After the Revolution

A Light Went Out

The Clutch

The Ribs of a Dynasty

Awaking in the middle of an idealist dream
The kind of fantasy that is perfection
To a world builder
Employed by a world ruler
Suddenly aware his pillow of rose petals
Are steel beams
Suspended near the clouds
Looking down, he sees a massive framework
The most ambitious project to date
Looking around, he sees a great pedestal
The skeleton of a masterpiece
The ribs of a dynasty
The hallowed dining halls
Of king makers, playboys and savants
Looking up, he sees no end
To where this massive construct is growing
But knows no matter how solid the base
This building will never be tall enough
To exist between the worlds above and below
As a permanent memorial
A reminder of its own decadence

The Liquid and the Creature

On a subtle outline of absence
Is a pale comparison
Contrasting her youth, her beauty
Her foreign delicacies
And domestic pleasures
She carries a covered pot of steam
And a glowing liquid
To a sleeping creature
Who lives quietly on the other side
As she crosses the divide
On a trail to another time
She stumbles and spills the meal
Of the sleeping creature
Fearing it will awake
And find the evidence of her error
She buries the pot at its feet
Then she kneels
Then she prays
Then she crosses back in time
To the other side

The Divide

A foam covered mystery
Of her comedic pleasures
A glass seemingly out of place
With a treasure it cannot conceal
And a golden figurine
Swimming through lavishness
Decadence and prose
Laughing aloud in an empty room
She twirls in strange patterns
To an unheard rhythm
Yet her eyes are steady
Fearless, menacing
For all of her mockery
And lighthearted moments
Her fingers neither tremble
Nor do they pause
As they reach for a sharpened edge
Nor does she bleed
As she passes through a blade
Along this streamlined form
A diamond piercing curve
Cuts a path across the two worlds
An unreconciled divide

The Starry Light

At the entrance are a pair of eyes
With a painted warning
Entering into a dark mouth
Leading to an extinguished fire
Resting places for the underworld
Where homeless men
And feral stays
Sleep alongside broken glass
Cigarette butts and plaster
Overlooking the old park
And the new highway
The ceilings and roof are gone
Creating a courtyard
Of fire stained bricks
Corroded steel beams
Painted warnings, cryptic signs
A star lit passage to heaven

Let Loose the Hogs of War

An armored sounder
Marched along the razor wire
Curtailed and corralled
Temporarily held
Against their will
Cloaked in a cape of razors
The leader grunted and groaned
Promising victory
Upon his release
And swift retaliation
Against his enemies
His confidence high
Knowing no prison
Can contain this army forever
The guards at the gate
Abandoned their posts
Believing it was better
To flee the path of an unspeakable evil
And hope for it to contain itself
Than to be trampled and mauled
Once the swine
Finally break free

The Gallery part 3

In the room of wishes
Each wall is a white shadow
Lined by dark light
Arranged in patterns
Outlining only the possibilities
Of lines and curves and shapes
The dark colors slowly changing
According to the wishes
The spectators make
To children, the colors turn vibrant
And are dancing with the shapes
Hand in hand and cheek to cheek
To the parents, the colors are neutral
Shades forming standard shapes
Of labels, sales, and traffic signs
Safety first for safety's sake
And to the elderly, the light appears
As if a photograph
Of the wishes they used to make

The Gallery part 2

In the hall of dreams,
Floating in an ocean
Of stagnant water
Eternally birthing
Blood drinking things
Born below the surface
As simpler beings
Who grow and transform
Until ready for flight
Then feed on other galleries
In the middle of the night
They swarm the statues
And paintings on walls
Biting through the heads
Of the relief sculptures in halls
Drinking the hearts
Of the floral gardens outside
Piercing the pleasures
Of patrons and pride

The Gallery part 1

In a gallery of dreams and oddities
Wishes and impossible things
Is a simulation  of a self aware machine
Who works as a scientist in a lab
Experimenting with biological organisms
Live tissue, functioning organs
Complex nervous systems
Attempting to create living beings
Capable of recreating
The world that exists
Solely in the mind of a machine 
Unaware of the audience
Who's shadows dim the light
As they pass along the corridor
To view the next impossible thing

The Exhibit

The boundaries of a portrait
Extend beyond the confines of a wall
Where it is displayed
Magnifying subtle extremes
Along an edge of wet paint
Continuously bleeding to the floor
Creating a puddle of new portraits
Reflecting the imagery
Embedded on an old mind
Bleeding upward to the ceiling
Which in turn bleeds
Again down the wall
The exhibit transcends each plane
First vertical then horizontal
And then vertical again
Lending many colors
As a life source
From plane to plane to plane

The Empty Room

An empty room unfurnished but clean
Located in the center of the underground
A room beneath a room
A home beneath a home
A world beneath a world
Undisturbed by unsettling sounds
In the rooms above and below
Overlooked by visitors
Forgotten by residents
A layer of dust sits over the gloss
Of a mirror polished shine
The last coat of paint is cracking
In subtle places along the wall
The paint extends to the windows
Sealed from exposure
Unknown to the outside world
An invisible refuge
Where time slows but never halts

The Black Rats

Two black rats navigating across
A complex network of dirt roads
Transcend the nature trails
And many vast oceans
Seek a new place to burrow
Carrying the final evidence
Of a bygone life
Searching for a homestead
A place to rest awhile
Where they can once again rebuild
Free from the exterminations
Of their haunted past
Where they can breed
Where they can prosper
And spread disease to the native
The population who stands in their way
And who feeds their reward
To build new statues
Dedicated to many great pests
To carve this world into their likeness
To sharpen their teeth and claws
Overwhelm the foreigners
On their own soil
And reshape the rest

Sand and Salt and Jet Stream

Slumping toward the basin
The waves crash over a child's head
Harder than the cement he was made from
Is the constant abrasive blast
Of sand and salt and jet stream
Of currents from the tide
Slowly buried in the harbor
He defines an ageless time
Of ships and sails and rowing
Into the dawn gleaming a golden shine
He bows with a perfect politeness
To his mother on the hill
Then turns to his father's round about
Waving goodbye as he sinks into the silt

She Watches From a Hilltop

She watches from a hilltop
Of thorns, weeds, and rows
Wearing a veil of ivy
Moss is her evening gown
Worn to a moonlit masquerade

She dances with an oak tree
To a breeze along the shore
The music of the night
Plays a symphony until morn
An ancient monument to victory

Subtly overthrown
By undesirable rodents
Who tunnel to her toe
Under the weight of weather
And weakness at her base

She tilts toward the roadside
As the traffic slows
Her graven arms outstretched
Plead for restoration
To indifferent motorists below

The Elders Disappear

The mourners assemble
Black on black on black
Painting colorful teardrops
To the ivory skin of youth
Who observe many wooden boxes
Lower into a single massive hole
On a complex network
Of cables, pulleys, wheels, and levers
As each casket
Disappears into a mass grave
The children grow older
Their faces find cheer
Painted tears turn ivory
And one by one
The elders disappear

Lane by Lane

Standing in the town center
Dressed in a naked pose
He salutes the sun in chains
Birds rest at his fingertips
And nest at his neck's nape
His unmoving eyes
Stare into the neon signs
Of the franchises
Who encroach upon his home
If his face made expressions
Surely his chiseled jaw would clench
And his stony brow
Knot with pain
As he anchors a commercial round about
Of indifferent motorists
Who encircle him lane by lane

Parrot Poaching

"I tried to warn them
of the poachers!
I saw them coming.
I told everybody,
but no one listened
until it was too late."

Perched at the edge of a limb,
A calm owl and a terrified parrot engaged
In candid discussion.

The parrot said:

"My problem is when I speak,
no one hears my words.
No one ever listens to what I have to say.
If they do happen to hear my words,
They never understand."

"I disagree." Said the owl.
"When you speak,
Your audience hears everything.
Your listeners hear too much.
And when a listener hears too much,
They learn nothing.
If you want your audience
To hear your words,
You need to become
A better listener."

The parrot nodded in disapproval.

"The problem with being a good listener"

He said.

"Is no one hears your think."  

"In all my years of talking,"
The parrot said as he began to fly away.
"I've never needed to listen."

The owl watched the parrot
Fly straight into the sights of the poachers
And then heard gunshots.
At the same time,
He heard the rustle of his next meal
Nestled in a safe place
Away from the poacher's hunting grounds.

"In all my years of listening,"
The owl thought to himself
As he spotted prey
"I have never been betrayed
By my own silence." 

Finding Light

Forging an entrance
Simultaneously feared and craved
An emissary is released
Opening the gates to a brittle mind
A projectile gathers speed
Collecting a foreign treasure
Of polished golden wings
It travels a short distance
And crosses the course of eternity
From entrance to exit
Correcting the evidence on its path
Revealing the secret locked away
The secret fears the light
Just as the light craves the secret

Jubilee

Dressed in attire for a formal gathering
Of queens, princesses, dutchesses -the wives of all importance
The aristicratics were seated at a table
In a great banquet hall
Served by hairless men
With manicured skin
Wearing muzzles, leather briefs
Every man -child wearing a unique codpiece
The centerpiece an immaculate silver platter
Skillfully engraved with an intricate floral pattern
And when the dish was unveiled
Their favorite annual delicacy
Was devoured with unladylike passion
As royalty feasted
On the hearts of many roasted pigs

He watches her intently

He watches her intently
Over the course of an evening
Seated near a corner
Dressed for the grand ball
Behind sunglasses, her eyes
Display annoyance at the wandering
Trail of smoke and ash
She seeks a place
To put out the remnants
Of her smoldering cherry
Placed at the end
Of a long, black filter
He nervously approaches
Unable to resist
Curiosity and lust
Infatuation and fantasy
Her smile has the subtlety
Of the piercing red eyes of chance
Paired with sharp teeth of judgement
He offers to buy her a drink
He asks clumsy questions
Meriting no response
Until he offers his hand
Inadvertantly giving her
A place to extinguish the fire

Reversal

Standing on higher ground
A seemingly insurmountable advantage
He slashes recklessly thinking the contest
Had been preordained in his favor
Smiling, laughing, taunting
As he looks down upon the opposition
Gloating - their inferior position
Their futile approach becomes less so
When, amidst a wild, un-gamely, taunting slash
He opens a gash on his own leg
And falls to the lower ground
His eyes level with their feet

Asleep Not Resting

Asleep but not resting
His eyes are wide open
His bed unkept, unmade
He reaches to straighten the covers
But cover is too far away
A blinding light penetrates the blinds
He reaches to close the curtains
He reaches to shield his eyes
But cover is distant
Even when it is so near
He hears a mysterious sound
Beneath the floorboards
Out of his path of sight
He reaches for an object
To help him stand
To help him rise
But all such objects are too far away
And so he listens
And so he waits
And so he watches  the ceiling
As it sways to the chattering sounds below
Waiting and staring at his useless hands
Biding time as a serpent
Coiled beneath a rock
Seeing everything above
Hearing everything below
As evening cools
And the shadows rise

Be Mine, Valentine

A labor of love to prepare her gift
Symbolizing what her feelings have become
For a man whom she curses
On humorless breath
She pounds once with her hammer
A spike through the fresh brain of a cow
Covering her hands in the color of the day
Spattering the room in shades of red
Her perfume is the scent of a slaughterhouse
Her makeup has but one shade
In a moment of vanity
She looks in the mirror
She sees her tatters and smiles
Then she places the gift on a plate
Presenting the festive platter
To her husband on Valentine's Day

Along the shores of reason

Along a rugged coastline
Jagged rocks, mighty currents - a savage untamed
Threatening every traveler
Who passes through the vein
Of an ancient harbor
Where the most unfortunate ships stray
Evidence of black cinder, volcanic ash, earthquakes
The heavens rain with fire
The sands and salts of death spill from a cave
The bones of sailors and merchants
Preserved in a single mass grave
Drifting through a narrow passage
Into the obscurity of time
Washing up at the shores of reason
Unknown and cast aside

Along the Edge of Circumstance

Surveying an audience
Seated near the blinds
In a calm and composed manner
She captures moments in strides
Along the edge of circumstance
Around the critic's eyes
Every heartbeat is a dagger
Each breath an anonymous passerby
The floorboards shake at the steps she takes
Her hands shiver and her body quakes
But with a surgeon's touch on vulture's wings

She glides

Resistance Touched Her Face

Resistance touched her face
And pressed itself upon her
Like an unwelcome lover
Swirling at her feet
Coiling at her hips
Wrapping its force around her bosom
Brushing the tears from her eyes
The sweat from her brow
And the air from her lungs
As she returned its black embrace
With a kiss and a whisper
A reluctant energy joined an unstoppable pull
As the two opposite motions reconciled
Building intensity upon a forced union
Purified in scorching heat
Cooling the absence of time

Remiel

A powdery white sheen of innocence
Crouched in a dark corner
Cleaning a non-healing wound
Growling with fear
Starved and parched
Wounded by vanity
Ignorance and carelessness
Not his own
Nor by choice
He howls as he struggles
He moans his displeasure
As he comforts his illness
In conversation with shadows

Early Morn

On the crooked teeth of porcelain
Chewing yellow fragments and traffic signs
With glitter at the opening
Dark stains from red wine
Broken glass swirling at the drain
A cool breeze and open blinds
The feet of liberty staggering
Across a dotted line
The light of evening flickering
A household full of chores
The parlors and the boutique shops
Have long since closed their doors
As the streets silently silhouette
The brick and mortar torn

The Motion

At first, he resisted
Struggling for each breath
His arms and his feet
Moved in circles
Against an unrelenting grip
In confusion or submission, perhaps
He attempted to embrace the source
And a connection was made
At the very unkind moment
His motion ceased

The White Death

A mysterious turn of events
Infested the town with sheep
Lambs crowded schoolyards
Ewe blocked the roads
Mutton at every juncture
Halting the busy city flow
"We must shear and eat
Our path to freedom"
The mayor of the town said
"For if we allow the flock
To suffocate our way of life,
We'll be over run and dead!"
With great fear and determination
The town folk fleeced and slaughtered
Feast and tottered
And did not cease until they
Shaved and strangled every single one
At the roast they said grace
Made a toast giving thanks To
God above for sending sheep
And not a giant ape

Seated on a Cloud

Seated at a table on a cloud
Hovering near an edge at the top
Her eyes pierce the approaching onset of fog
Her smile is a contemporary sonnet
Accenting a melody set to high tide
Passionately and rhythmically in her own way
On a cold Winter night
A river to the left; A city to the right
A bottle of fine red wine
Street lights dim as a steady fire burns nearby
Transferring time; Transfixing minds;
Transcending darkness and haze
The light of reason and likeness of minds;
Seal her moonlit lips of virtue
As a new beginning shines

The Mechanism

Turning in both directions
On the slot of a wheel
The cogs move with precision
As the music grows louder
Their chorus whirs and hums
Enchanting an unseen audience
Who delight in the machine
Without fully comprehending
The mechanism that arouses their joy