The Wooded Valley and The Lake of Hidden Sticks

The Wooded Valley
of Hidden Sticks
the blend of tree frog
and poison dart
the drinking and the rolling in the mud
the arrows that scream across the room
shoes you pick up of the ground

The Shrouded Woman
sitting on a park bench
her hand on a book
its black so no mistakes
the drama unfolds like a newspaper
a glance here, a quick double take there
she knows to whom she signals
and the walls bleed refrigerated air
gusts of stolen breath

~~~

A Necklace made of Nettles
litanies and blasphemies
all that can be and can not be
waves of the mercury washed over wounds
the broken winds lapsed and lost empty rooms

the man walked out to sea
the wind stopped him from sinking
and his meeting at half past three
saved him from drinking

the lake of hidden sticks
the water hides
fate
the water hides everything important
lake of fear
walk around it
never to return
to the lip of the crater
peer inside and the blood
of the earth boils
itself dry

~~~~~

the crystal throne

Was not enough go get enough
the crystal throne sat gazing empty
the crowd had melted decisions were
abandoned like dead petals
the falling snow filled the roofs with reason
the grandmother who sat in the yard
pulling up plants for us to eat in the spring
the wheels and the larks that dart from this
eye to that within the confines of reality
the air remains thin and the council
sits and judges the citizenry

A pen draws a line
the past is forgotten by decree.
so the people dance
and their laughter
falls down from the tree

it is not hard to believe
but now you find a cloak over
both arms and being carried
as if by a wave the crown of
nails and the sound of
the crystal throne encasing
your presence

giving you Godhood
you know this does not happen so it must be a dream
characters in stories are not supposed to do that
it breaks the contract of consequences
that we made with the reader
the turner of the pages
keeps the past unraveling
well spent tough until the very end
the last gasp on the battle field
the last shred of life expiring breath
these are what heroics are made of
the crystal throne ensures deadly
grown up on battle fields outside
of your home will gasp their last
breath knowing you are the Lord
and Master of the land

It is human

It is human to fight on
to take the cause as it were ones throat
and yell all days with the forces of the mighty
and the proud victors of legend
the storming of the castle
the taking down of the barriers between them and us
the road on which is paved the softness of touch
the face that turns beneath the shroud or brazen
under the searing heat of desert sun
or reflecting electric blue
the machine that shapes thinking in the dream lands
that thought they could line their fortress with
promisory notes.