Poems and Prose #65 - Unity

Amidst the twinkling quiet of night,
a nihilist's requiem absorbs errant light.

Entangled in shadows, the faces flex tight,
while clouds feast together on burnt beasts of flight.

In due time, indeed, these skies will dissolve,
as into night each day's sun will fall.

But in the soft morning, you'll hear the call
of manifold nothings compressed into a ball.

Poems and Prose #64 - Mollified

Atop a hill,
the wind passes through me,
carrying fresh-born air
into me.

A sentry
in this scene of beauty,
to leap right now
would seem my duty.

Poems and Prose #63 - Crawl

Wishes withheld,
   now defunct,
slumber soundly
   in this trunk.

On my knees,
   I raise the lid,
the wood's moan
   a lonely fib.

Inside lie
   the trinket stacks,
sepia pictures,
   and cockroach tracks.

In this room
   consumed by dusk,
I pass each piece
   a labored touch.

Poems and Prose #62 - Aloof

A new moon hangs
   beneath the clouds,
shielding starlight
   from the ground.

I find my pupils
   large and round,
and but for echoes,
   there's no sound.

Traipsing on a
   moss-draped mound,
seeking stuff
   that might astound,

My focus shifts
   from up to down,
that black disc
   my lantern now.

Dialogue #8 - Transparency

(+) Where do you hide?
(-) Where no one can see me.
(+) Then why are you
       always here?
(-) Because I'm well aware
       of man's visual limitations.

Poems and Prose #61 - Scrapple

I draw the curtains shut,
to fill the room with dark,
and let myself be sheathed in dust,
the particles my lasting mark.

Poems and Prose #60 - Half-Past

Timing instruments
mark some space,
the sense of which
is fast erased.

Watch-watchers will
here now find encased,
within this tool,
a blemished face.

Mental Blips #5 - Vibrato

The monestary,
huge and quiet and empty,
is a great place to hum.

Poems and Prose #59 - Brick

Let's carve his name
into this stone
so that his bones
don't forget
where they're from.

Poems and Prose #58 - Vacated

Gone away again,
the room begins
its acrobatic spin.

Grimaces now grins,
I lie down
and fall on in,

embraced now
by some
strangely silent din,

pulling me tightly,
strategically,
till I bend,

my skull now nothing
but a
human-head-shaped fin.

Poems and Prose #57 - Roundabout

The fan blade's swirl
cuts through the air,
deflecting distracted thoughts
that grow so focused
on some bygone gust,
whose lefted dust
stratifies into
an ever-growing wall.

Mental Blips #4 - Fecund

Tall grass blades quiver,
autumn air shimmying past,
the worms sound asleep.

Poems and Prose #56 - Yonder

Convergence smears
the horizon line to a mist,
skyscrapers dissolved
into crumbled obelisks.

The moon frowns down,
its left side gone,
well aware of its nearness
to the approaching dawn.

Today will be hot
and bursting with steam,
and at noon, this moment
will seem like a dream,

Brilliant and vivid
while eyelids are draped,
then a longed-for fantasy
that quickly escapes.