Fragment From A Masquerade

Red ribbons clutter the scene,

From lanai to balcony

Yet still,

I can see,

Even though,

I choose not to believe

Kabuki flags defile dreams of old,

Through the seams they politely latch onto,

All things lost and never seen

Yet…

     A dream so cold,

     Needs only an ounce of fuel

     To direct the oars of a future worth possessing 

An Excavation in Suburbia

Sky claw

Descending down

Into sediment—

Sacred and softly astir

All stand in awe

As burrowing persists

Deeper the grave

Wider the gaze

Clunk, clank

Metal to steel

Gasps arise

As ghosts appear

Crisis management’s

Focal point

The most enthusiastic

Face yet to blink

Dusty residue

Discomforts the breathable

A Convergence

Angry Gnomes, Troglodytes and invisible assassins

Converge at blind-man’s hollow

Heart.

Giant lush scene-stealing scenic-distemper engorges upon the valleys of lavender dream-like bursts of brush, seemingly from some planet yet to be named.  Tides too famous to appear here and now, have just come awash.  With an ever-alluring, pinch of crushing adoration, and a fickle sentiment of teenage-type, schoolyard infatuation swallowing me wholly, the water, caresses in a loving yet reverential fashion and it has since anointed every inch of me, blanketing my aperture in a cloud of foam and vegetation. 

Vin number…scratched away

Foreign symbols take their place

Spiders, legs for arms, arms for legs

         A disjointed sense of ownership

         Without a feasible trace of genealogy

Yet

         Someplace in the shell itself…

There must be something, anything

         That can help identify point of origin

Why bother, you might say?

Well…it’s important, that’s why.

And I know,

 This probably wasn’t the answer you had in mind

But at present…

It’s all I have.