The chorus of the butterfly

 Sour not at the table
Sing and we all sing together
Almost shouting the chorus
The food is music, the music love
Surreal floating love

Caterpillar no more
The elegance is sweet
So Let those of us who are familiar
enjoy your your aura momentarily
Before those wings grow too big

Sing with us at the table
The chorus shakes the room

Sitting across from you
The sceptical who shares your grace
The one that mocks both night and day
That neutrally sits while tears fall
From the eyes of the singing pretendants

Sing your fears out
From the space of the chest

Where someone used to live
Writing the chorus for this song
Playing the strings you allowed
Yet erring in the tune

Butterfly now the both of you
Play with those egos
pull the ropes hard
Then delicately 
Give yourselves to the journey of the song

Ibilsî grip

 Slamming lizard faced onto the off ramp
It was no exit I smiled grimly the optimistic reptile.
It was a demoniac company catacomb below a screaming highway
a maze of choked driveways and dispatch mass graves.

Everything here was past due the acid residue.
Outside the burial mound, the asphalt was a draconic heart attack
I tried to step forward and collapsed against the brick sepulchre
Lungs starving for air

Outside the vehicle my body lurched forward zombie wise
Claustrophobia subsides as I am fiendishly torn out
from the grey crypt crushing from above
the grey burning from underneath

The serpentine demonic grip
The choke of life's own deadlines
The absolute emptiness of the mausoleum
sucked raw in forethought through a plastic I.V tube

Fire of liberation

 The fire dies down
embers hiss
Each one of them have their own shadow
They crawl and burn against the rockwall
The redness of the stone molten

The flicker of something lost
Walkers through the flames
As a hideous shape
The crackle and the pop
Unnaturally frequent

The ember shadows fold upward
And downward
Then expose themselves as failed souls
Undone lived and soured
confined to the realm of fire

Dancing in painful choreography
with flame
curving and wavering in hot torture
Then reentering the ember
Darkening it once more

Liquid beauty

 The beauty inside is liquid

It is written on the face

The label says sweet and deep

Like a bottle of liqueur

Most won't recognize

Won't open the lid for sniff

Or a tipple

And the bottle's contents sweetens still

Tears distilled

Sugars unfermented

Always fresh and invigorating

After I take a swig I check the level

It's still full as if letting me drink was purpose

My Inner Sun

 We slept in the gully waiting for the one
Early evening said it would be a long night
Next morning picking up trash along the causeway
The marshland around begging the sun to burn of it's fog

The Sun came marching in from the east
A child from the horizon falling on 19 hills
An adult by the time it arrived before me
Illuminating the shade, the snakes and all of my failings

It followed me and surpassed six my own Kamea
And beat me to my own destiny willing it more than I
It made me wax nostalgic about night, long for darkness
The fantasy of the mortal mind makes the past seem better

When its distorts build cases for it's stories
A hand extends from the firey entity from it's bridge
Directing my face toward 108 rows of growing things beneath
And I will walk in these straightlines as the Sun itself points 

Falcon's day

 This falcon sits on the wall
The brick darkened dull inane

It sits enjoying the rain
It's glare sharp and hard

Looking down into the stockyard
for an easy meal about

One that would run out 
Between the piles and equipment

Unaware something was different
Not noticing the diving bird

The rush of wings unheard
Then it catches it in its mouth

Return to the wall top beady clout
Severing the creature it pounced on

Devouring it into chunks ensconced
And digesting it gloriously down

the pitter patter sounds
all rodents stay hidden

So the appetite grows
Blood in the bitten

The dying mouse and bad weather
Warms the falcon heart under the feathers

The knower´s schemes

 These knowers sit high up and speculate downward
Lost in the rocket ship of conjecture
These knowers share titles
But they cannot see the truth

The ground up there is shaky
Not for plebs like me
But for the ill conceived schemes
They live to create

And they come crashing down 
stale meteorites
All the bribes and documents
The trail of unwashed cash

The knowers can´t control
The flow of information
And if the population
were not distracted by religion and football

These knowers would know no longer