Bits and Pieces

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Pick-axe: now

Counting on our
fingers and toes.

Made to believe it
will all work out.

 The lazy tail disappearing as the horizon
rises.

A Sleepless
traction, the glare caught behind a momentary tree or trunk.

Single breath. Worn
soles.

Hammer and nail
building rhythm into masks we want to believe in.

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Atlantis (cont.)

5.12.14

Which nature am I
follow?

Furthermore, which
follows me?

I didn’t want to be
a predator.

But this is the face
I’ve been given.

The only language
anyone seems to hear.

Kindling fed to the
fire,

One sided histories
translated in error.

Chasing the
skin-changer

The sounds and
vowels may not find a line you have heard before.

These are our cries
for help.

Cheeks stained with
so…

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Pick-axe: Frame work

There was a woman.

She’s not like you

Nor is she like me.

There was a
women. 

Perched so heavily,
so naturally, on my mind.

When she found her
roost between another pine,  the bough
forgot to flex.

Still setting the
table for two.

Still surprised to
find the door locked, as it was left.

There was a woman.

Sharp like a glass
you never meant to break.

Her edges bared so
clearly,…

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Pick-axe: Filter

Phantom,

Tethered to the
celestial.

Waxing

And oh so waning.

Trumpets and brass
bucklers

Driving away the
wild

Absorbing pervading
blows.

My serpentine
fantasy cradling bones aching for the weight of flesh. 

Young enough for
crooked fingers.

Their ancient
perversion stirring the cauldron

Drawing cold water
from below.

I want to tell the
story.

The formula to my
reason.

All the…

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Atlantis

Atlantis http://wp.me/s1eCEh-atlantis

12.31.13

Beyond hunger this
gluttonous  elbow wrenches our words
behind their voices.

How does a pit find
the way out of the fibrous darkness.

The tools we are
told,

Are ever in our
hands.

But what of the fire
or wind. Can they exhaust  their  supply

When demand is so
high?

Desire so
pious?  

What comes before
the things we know?

Fireworks and
ambulances

Celebration and
farewells.

E…

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Pick-axe: Ever-less, never-more

Fingertips tremble.

Punctuation
premature.

Bird bones in your
teeth,

Harking, you’re a
predator.

Long strides seeking
weight in her steps.

Distractions pulling
us like waves.

Forming scissors to
grand closures.

Dust collecting on
holy relics no longer calling to bruised knees.  

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Pick-axe: Natural

Deflating intuition.

Ears itching,
blurred vision.

I know.

Bellyful of sour
hope.

Fantasy obtuse and
memory disjointed.

I know.

Rain pulling down
the dust.

From black to
searing gold.

I know.

Chalky gasp and
cold sheets.

It’s our turn to be
the martyr.

I know.

No thing.

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Harlequin

Chasing a falling
star,

Table runner
collecting elbow scraps.

Where do we find out
penance?

The retribution for
thoughtless sin.

Teetering mobile we
know nothing.

Inverse prescription
tasting sickly familiar

Entirely forbidden.

Can we be so blind?

Hounds up the wrong
tree?

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