Rants. raves and ramblings from celestial circles . . .

Archive for November, 2015

RIVETS AND BUNS (A War Story of Love)

shadows

 

Her soft hands
warmly knead my flour
a precious cargo
booming to land another flawless mission.

To Paris on her smell.

He doesn’t feel the final rivet snap
blooming foreskin
shielding the butt tip of his cockpit
as it rips apart
on his final approach
to her runway.

He smells the Paris of her hands baking.

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PLACID ANIMATIONS IN A RED BRICK SHELTER

Buddha-lying-templesm

 

The animals need no love.

Weather is always adept to fornication.

Mother’s breastfeeding milk never rises.

When do crickets have time to dance?

Plant specimens grow faster than human specimens.

They shake and grind at the first sight of trouble.

Where do the stars hide during the day?

Does the moon ever really cry?

Every core of burning meteor someday grows cold.

Where does the butterfly buy color?

There is no vault.

There is no permanence, anywhere.

Ever.

 

I once met an old man without a face.

His body was no longer his own.

It had molten into another cocoon.

He was forever trapped in his own shell of gold.

He was always trying to take someone else’s face.

He was a man of many faces. He was two-faced.

He wasn’t a man.

No one called him for advice.

He never needed makeup. He was ugly.

His gold cocoon kept him happy.

He would spin webs of gold around everything he ever wanted.

He had the finest cars, beautiful women, boats, planes, castles and armies.

He would spin webs of gold around all of them.

He had no silver. His cocoon was hollow.

 

One day his web ran dry.

He couldn’t save face.

He died.

His cocoon shrivelled up and melted after the first rain.

His gold ran back into the rivers and buried itself deep in the Earth.

No one ever remembered him ever again.

His children became butterflies and flew away.

Butterflies without any color.

The crickets had no time to dance.

The moon cried that day.

Every mother’s milk began to rise.

A bright green meteor fell to Earth with a tail of gold.

Two worms fornicated in the rain.

And the stars came out at night.

 

 

 

_______________________________________

 

11-11-15

DEEP MINES

0394CAIRO10_10_2014MK3

 

Mines I slave for nights and days

the dark depths conceal

hard hammered walls

of bones and dirt.

 

One hollow cavity I follow

pounding loud and soundly

a suckled pulse

for a dire gem of pleasure

and a mass mother lode.

 

In the core shaft of pursuit

the bright gilded veins

gleam ruptured passion

from every mind’s eye

my find you are mine

dear lover.

 

 

 

 

_______________________________

Written August 25, 1999
Revised November 2, 2015

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