Like my clock?

Digital tic of Time pass in silence.

Sound surfaces on creative whim

or clatters in descendent insanity.

Unspeaking electrons ever buzz into unlit obscurity

infusing numbered lights that count last to eternity,

but first to shrill bleats

waking to morning coffee,

prayer,

or nothing.

This world expanse wrapped in stucco walls

it weighs and waits

rages to calm and back to rage

placates that blind guide

bares the fruit of the barren.

Until the dawn unlike another.

New comes to creep.

A scarcity of grey brews crimson red or amber brown,

at-first-unfavored-light,

you crest a rounded line

and rounded self,

blind the already bemused.

Smell like tincture wraiths cloy a curry tint,

wrap and warp my milquetoast memory and

backward fade to vibrant Dream.

Taste buds - hills on mouthy Mars -

rouse and breathe blue.

Seen silk will find scratch of common cloth,

like augury, atmospheric gender set opposite a thickset thumb.

Look up,

ubiquitous ceilinged cellophane,

Poke and Prod,

Sound will surely surface.

Don't be hatin'

August and September air

is blast heat to chill promise.

The outside year fades and

I feel the tug of hot cocoa,

the at-hand switch to thick sweater.

A layer of Winter fat will soon pad

but not now. The Summer swimsuit reigns.

I inhale only imagined change.

Today, leaves yet live green

and park tables still fill at noon.

But how the haze hangs in the air,

the cool hint of bite in a breath,

discomfited lungs insinuating a

precipitous fall of molecules

delving to unexplored reaches.

No longer the hot air loft,

the far-gazing heights -

a heft in my chest is missing -

and the absence
is sweet and solid promise

of holiday trinity.

Another Friday Another Poem

Cement Wall

sand and lime

water, time

formed, framed, with forethought, purpose

chipped or stained, barren-surfaced

hemming in and holding out

sections cross America

dreams directing, contained, deflecting

Cement Wall

Hey, a Big Poem Friday poem actually on Friday

I killed a feral dog.

Dog I knew.

Dog I loved.

I killed him from atop my back porch.

Slouched and secret,

stooped on that steady redwood beam,

I lifted sight and trigger pulled.

The redwood rail, newly stained

proffered fixed foundation to my elbow,

steadied barrel and black hole end,

last image burned upon his retina.

My delivered touch of metal slug

pierced flesh and severed life

ceasing what surge there was of disease

what verities of thought, touch, or feel remained.

Rabid sound and shout, growl and whine,

gone like Autumn in August.