Just desserts

 Here it is authority and organized chaos
There are a hundred men hired just to demote
There is protocol and there is dominance
There are the president's fickle whims

What i tell you today will come to pass.
There's a black oily hurricane over hormuz
In the boardroom it's pudding time
What a gesture for the hunger of Venusians

The carpet so thick the shoe takes a second to sink
Like walking through thick perfect flan
Spoons are distributed, knives go into hands
They greedily cut out their pieces

The chief of staff gives the green light
And the table goes to town on creme caramel

The Temperature Of Absence

 The unstable heat washes over me.
Falling liquid.
A slow drip inside the heart.
Hollowness looks up from deep within
Tries to convince me of it's necessity.

Warmth fades from my hands.
Furniture and silence.
I bathe in solitude.
Standing in shallow water.

The unstable heat hits my chest.
My legs are wet and the floor is filling up.
How divine, final goodbyes.
Hollowness still chatting away.

Humidity on the forearm.
Then it disappears,
registering that real feel.
The temperature of absence.

The infinite and the fierce

 On the way to living
God tells us certain things
Each day a length of that sacred path
A few pieces of counsel in the conscience

Odin stares from afar
The sun is being filtered 
By the month of may
The streets beg movement

But they remain so still
God encourages relief
Under each breath of wind
Noone was listening but I heard

Odin gave the city noise with motors and hammers
contact with hardness
The shape of the abrupt
Empty echoes

I carved wisdom from suffering. I bled for sight. I took what the world would not freely give.

Vortices Of Me

 I'll be getting pulled into the vortex.
The one my mind made ages ago.
If only it took nothing from me.
yet gave me something back.

A token of all time compounded.
Cut apart and punched like a movie ticket.
The power of the vortex swinging inside itself,
revolving accelerating.

The roots of me feeding off fury.
Tapping into limitless source,
surviving and transforming.
I am now swirling chaos.

I will humm whistle and scream.
The vortex spinning affirmatively.
Through the night sky.
Through the spirit.

Lake speaks of autumn

 Drifting all the way to the shaded side of the lake.
There the chills of early autumn accumulate.
And tell of coldness of a coming winter.
From the frigid rocky bottom .
To where maple and oak roots seek the porous shore.
The shade and murk of the water,
make it impossible to see through.

First leaves fall discolored onto the blackness.
Something darts underneath them.
The forest gently waves it's branches.
In the breeze from across the water.
More leaves float landing perfectly against the membrane.
Lying as if to sleep after their life on the tree.
A ripple churns up from the depths.

The subtle boil on the surface, something moves from underneath.
A squirrel observes the disturbance from an overhanging branch.
Inside the grand pool of silent, still, thick living water.
The breeze dies down and everything is statue.
The autumn humms and smells the motionless land.
In weeks to come the trees will be bare.
Their skin now exposed to the oncoming cold.

Bone yard

 He walks where the bones have turned to dust.
Walking through forbidden waste, the world is so far away.
So ignorant of the trials.
Blissful in blind repetition.

The shattered edge of a femur captures his attention.
The rest of the bone intact smooth and strong.
Sun bleached something so essential.
Regal grey and white.

In considerations for the debris of the human structure.
He reads last words in cracks and fractures.
He avoids stepping on the brittle remains,
crunching it further into dust.

"Here all I see is what desintegrates" 
"So show me what will rise!"
"Will I take this powder of bone, as flour for bread?"
The overcast sky reflected the lifelessness of the terrain.

The trapped and buried bones remained silent.
The exposed ones jutting out at different angles.
Whistled offences using the wind as their voice.
Clouds form a mirror of the a sinister ribcage before him.

Looming down from the sky threateningly.
"So you think you are chosen!" A voice booms rattling the ground.
Just a necessary reminder to the folly of wickedness.
I control no outcomes.

If I say to the wicked, ‘O wicked one, you shall surely die,’ and you do not speak to warn the wicked to turn from his way, that wicked person shall die in his iniquity, but his blood I will require at your hand.
But if you warn the wicked to turn from his way, and he does not turn from his way, that person shall die in his iniquity, but you will have delivered your soul

shape of words

 I am a piece of curiosity
I slowly stream out of the city
I am not actually physical
I have become liquid

I have carried out the transformation
My bones and mouth all dissolve
Underneath the city
Out I go into the big polluted river

I separate over a kilometer
I have fallen into lakes and other outlets
I seem to spawn and reproduce
I am all over every reservoir

algae in the shape of words