Reality’s Glimmers

Spigots and spots
Lined with
Rings and dots.
Patterns galore
Slip, slop, snore.
Paw onto the ship of lore,
And wait while pounding
This gate
To equate
The score.
Blew on by, blow on by
The store,
Filled to the brim
Gained by a whim
And soar.
Past the valleys of brick and gold,
Black concrete
That’s already sold.
Walk down the silver pathway,
Until copper eyes
Stare straight
Into your soul
Not a moment too late
Not a moment too bold.
Laying, thumped
While chumped
And humped
By the slow-passing days.
Land in a haze
Slather some glaze
And unhash Reality’s Glimmers.

Fed, But Not Sane

Whizzed and funneled
Past the brink
Of extinction.
Too much power
Sucked from
Dry lubed tubes
Stuck on something stronger
Than tree fragments.
Gleeful and joyful
For the state of being
“alive.”
Don’t want to dive
Into it too soon.
Breaking backs
And open flowing pantaloons.
Cracked, whipped
Parched throat just whimpers
To get fed and cleaned.
Shaking fingered globes
Of para-normality
Come searching
For a new way out.
Looking for a home
Winking feelers pulse
Their stretched, taut strings.
Try to hold onto
One more day,
But fate
Is slipping
Slipping
Slowly,
Slowly
away.

(Big Black Hole)

Twiddling thumbs
wanting the world
to align, emerge
from its prison, its shell, its jail, its cell
jumping, uneasy on edge.
Any noise, snap, or twitch
and it all falls off
the steep ledge.
Shaking fingers, heart buzzing, palms pounding, adrenaline surging, soaring, leaping
twist it all to hell,
let it fumble and fail
at the very last minute.
Climb up the slick walls;
now slide down.
Strut through two
needles in arms and veins sticking out.
Brain pulsing, flickering, no doubt
about to explode.
Just a little push
and all of life’s
longings/aches/wants
fall down the mysterious chasm
into the dark sinister depths below.
(In the Big Black Hole)