The left and right wing zealots eternal wisdom

 What's missing in the true believers today
They have no paraphernalia
No deep rooted symbols to identify with
Not those cheap and fleeting trinket trends from a one dollar store

No look at middle east and their cultural beliefs
The heirlooms the traditional cups and sauces
Elixirs and herbs and spices, tapestries and carpets
The tropical zealots have none of these things

The wannabe libertines cling to cliches
As if they have evelasting meaning
The zealots cling to rapid austerity
Both diseases age them fast

And to replace the old relics
Printed flags and slogans iconic tropes
Seeking to achieve those American ideals
Snow and Santa Claus in December

Yet it's summer in the southern hemisphere
Less interested in the origins of thing
Curiously ask if the european celebrates chrismas
Not knowing the concept was created there

Face in the stone

 Face in the brick work
two hundred years ago 
the man who passed away whose face lay against
The hard granite

In the hush under those big royal poincianas
falling apart and held together by bromeliads epiphites
Old kite string and hanging succlents
Also the matted mess of abadoned nests

The face stares out of those shadows
The Paraty phantom of all things
It's soul a piece of the landscape
forever observing the strange human activity

Cut from my own dreams

 The day severs dreams from my waking reality
memory unwilling to grant me their secrets
The strange craftiness of their nature
The sweet depth of their journeys

Cut off from the mellow warmth
The colors and emotions that blend into one
The secrets and epiphanies 
That noone believes 

My heart and brain both long to experience them
But the mundane wall of the expedient has risen and dried
Blocking those secret worlds
Only bowing for the new day's sun

Venus in retrograde

 Clapping hands
The wish for new things to step inside of life
The unwillingness to make them happen
Beautiful fantasies leading somewhere incredible apparently

The future you desire
Is found in flat routine
Days that trace the same deep lines
made from the tyre tracks of yesterday

Such big things suddenly happening except not
overwhelming events come up except don't
The oracle is cardboard
The soothsayer a tarot hack

Years of pretend

 Don't answer the question
Take the worm off the hook
the life line is going deeper
dragged down by the sinker

Carp perches on the rock bottom
Above oily black seabirds get snagged
On old fishing nets
The past such a web

your personal racket
Volume and mafia
Scratching backs
and pro quos

Body bag 
Concrete weights
Boat all blood stained
slumber in the deep

Carpe diems
Flock conformity
left feeling like idiot beggers
Hats in hands hoping for quarters

Never coming up for air
Afraid to give away too much
Thinking the secret is safe
Alas its all out in the open

Never answering the questions
And up the sleeve just enough ammunition
So if cornered
you can tommy gun around the magazine

A story re-enacting itself
inside of the head 
A bubble of pride
formed from years of pretend

The fussy German

 The young man looked offended
He gazed amazed at his interlocutor
Eyes almost watering

Hint of outrage visiting his brow
Surprise and visible transition into mutual unease
Then he states the obvious, articulating his displeasure

He corrects each part of the interaction as if such an act was necessary
Perceived faux pas that don't measure against his cultural conditioning
Through the possible reasons this interaction was wrong in nature

Strategically he gives concessions 
Tells the interlocutor to go on with his day
And that he genuinely wishes him well

Which carries no value whatsoever
flooding the situation with another layer of surreality
The imposing farewell is a pair of scissors severing a string

Faces of Ymir

 Ive seen the face poking out of them clouds up there yonder

You say there are too many words

But there are not enough to describe that face

It imposes hollow eyes like something tribal

It tells me to question my whole life

friend and rival

It beams out from between thick crusts of abandoned cloud

It begs no pathetic collective it is whole except for a nose that doesn't fit

It promises rain and truth and strife and peace and god and then maybe some death

It promises those deep greys that scream flood flood from the bewitched sky face

It grusses the mountain and lets loose on the lowland

That face all pale and wiggly unapologetic fully fully that deiety

Some nestle in their coziest corners blanketed and deafened

Others seek the beginning of those inevitable thunder like drums

The ones the boom and hug the soul

The ones that emit fortune and wrath simultaneously

uncanny gloom building itself and the face still smirks

My spirit dances up there in the chaos

let me have mine these thoughts quasi furled dream unfolding

Hands go up and down with the deluge the face looms again

The smile and eyes wash the tarmac rearrange these streets

Torrential relentless, dragging what doesnt belong

Robbing its essence, as that thing did the city when the city was dry