That clear sharp metallic sound It cuts up from the dream world A murmuration of dark birdsStartled they bolt for the sky like a protozoan shadowsFrom beneath the arched bridge The cold bright sun of winter Pours overBarren trees wrapped in the mist of sleepthe shroud of night liftedDressing Roughly pulled from an unhealed wound…

The Light that shines from the beginning of timeyour name is unspokenas above so below your love and compassion waits for usWe treasure the nourishment as we strive to remain honest and trueforgiving and inclusive Let us keep within our sphereand have patience for those who ,often ourselves, selfish and self absorbed , Disturb our…

Electrons do not have ears to listen As proteins wrap around Each other In the sacredObscenity of lifeCarbon chains Enslave the mere Immortal nature of hissing atomsIn the folly and spasms that somehow enshroud these moments of rapture, of sorrow and doubta folly that ends Inevitably In deathThe sunset glints across a beautiful unceasing horizon…

Do they have pianos in eternity?I wonder if my fingers will find the keys,ghosting melodies into endless air.Above, the cephalopods twist.Heaven’s creatures curl their slick embrace,tender and obscene,around the unguarded essence of angels,who arrive mute, shivering,their first thought always the same:“This is not the light I imagined.”Here, at the cliff’s edge, I linger.The weight of…

In that final call,Something in his voice— a shadow, fractured, trembling,something wrong beneath the words,the weight of silence thickening.I should have stitched some comfort,threaded solace through the line.His despair, a dark seep,unwelcome guest in my hours,a stain I carried,though I turned from it.And then, days after—the news fell,a stone into still water,rings of should have,rippled…

Hair growsLike an ugly flowerand thenIt doesn’t grow like a comment on reality and thenyou die November 6, 2024 SGL Brunswick, ME

Here is the real truthI am so very unique Like everyone else Nov. 1 2024 SGL Brunswick, ME

(WR) The first stirrings, a preludeWhere pleasure wakens, gentle as breath.the point of parting, of plunge and pulse,A press, a joining, struck into depth.Then, where the bodies holds their edge,Rising on will, restraint its own warmth;and it grips, grips, and trembles,The thrill no longer patient to partlike a fever breakingsolar flarethe crest, a sudden climb,A slant of stars where senses peak,a…

The eschatological overreach at the end of daysStretching to touch the asymptotic wonder just out of reachThe Joycean thunder word Echoing up from bottom of the wale of songThe crowd pulsingWith the sympathetic resonance of gratitude The finality of the last songThe tide still wears downThe ancient sea stones At the bass of timeAt Winterland…

Every good boy deserves fruitFACEEvery clown acts funnyFriends deserve better green emeraldsOZ — not staffed October 25, 2024