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