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

Crossing the road from a far

 Look left, look right
Your shoe lands heel to toe on the edge of the curb
Motorcars pass and tyres crunch gravel
You wait the road is clear

You step out and start to cross the road
Your green pants match the grass of the road island 
You step up sun salutes you and exposes you
Again your neck adjusts looking both ways

You didn't see me at the top of the street
Watching you cross each leg movement slow motion
I studied you the way a prospector might a mine
I was grateful to have seen you today

The mall killer

 I hold the weapon it weighs upon my arms

It is a heavy machine gun

I must take life with it

it is long it is blame

I weild it on the stairwell

The world deems me a killer

As they come down the escalator

I eleminate them all

Girl and boy before they reach the floor

I was sent to launch the offensive

Taught to never hesitate

bullets leave muzzle

singing through the still air

The body shudders and falls 

as the stairs move downward

Life is so precious

so expensive to snuff out

Hooves on dance floors

 Satan was a wonderful dancer.
God played the violence.
The guitar, riff the discussion.
The deadly percussion.

Shaped into the spaces where sunlight cannot reach.
Playing chicken with a line of shade.
Snorting the fallout unafraid.
Surfing the unholy blast wave.

Satan was the adversary at his core.
Chaos was this broad polished floor.
There he goes dancing past like a hurricane.
He pours into vacant people cultivating insane.

Limited freedom inside this reality's sweet sacred haze.
The worlds black and whites only permits him the greys.
God is the guitar, the roar the bark.
The light and often the dark.

The devil can't even claim darkness.
Even the original lie is not of his doing.
Yet Satan can outdance all of heaven.
Breezing inside and outside of those Dali landscapes.

Stalking the raw heart with intent.
The air is tame and smells like God.
So he must spin etherally
and appear arbitrarily.

Each one of us worthless.
Each one of us of exorbitant cost.
I peek into the paradox that shifts inside your mind.
Lesser God's are now insomniacs.

For the sound of dancing hooves on wooden floors
have replaced their presence. 

Squamata flow

 Serpent arises the singular I
Pouring out of my own heart 
crossing the scorched field
pumping scales to move through the ash
The blacked ground

Lateral undulation
hinged front fangs
Rock crack eyes
Venom glands

Be restful my inner temple repeats 
I am reptillian window inside me reflect it
From somewhere within the earth where heat arose 
Be focused be sharpened
I am snake like

The scorched field becomes abundant once again
Full of holes that are homes
of my kind
full of peril

Recharging in the sun
I so singular in purpose
Solitary in movement
Frightening a world of monsters
a metaphorical devil