liplocked prophet

a maze of contradictions
      perhaps more than average
      perhaps just what the doctor ordered
           or so it was recorded
   in the beginning there was only a single
                       & no one dared
   [think] it was the flicker
               of a BIC lighter
      they waxed the myth
                  of what there is
              with what isn’t/no matter
         how absurd| they took the Word
       for how it was written
          you can almost hear  the system
                                                   [as it is now]
                   》 closing in《

           polishing the lacquer you become
           unwillingly enamored as if you’d
               just paid a manicurist to fix
            infinitesimal chips in your paint
                     maybe it’s done &
                         sealed like a

or maybe you’re not sure anymore
                  & that’s where I come in



In another world the columbarium
    wasn’t real

             in that game it was just
                 another quest …

     yet| as we all stood in a line|
         looking up at a wall of
                   closed tombs &
                     golden plaques
                       old enough to be
                   nearly illegible

It became sentient without the glow
                                         [of objective]°
               as soon as
      they lifted the champagne casket
                & you and your single white rose
                                        with it… within.


[Authors Note: resplendent in unknown suspension, the greatest story the teller ever told was your legacy]


  You cannot be heard
         nor may you be seen
          because who could believe
                           she likes to be watched
 the mystic mythic magic of the seer
              but the only truth
              is sung agonizingly nearby

Cloaked in perfumed fog
            full lips & rustic tongue
                 her song is ancient

              you may have stumbled
                 upon a fragile carnal bounty
                     tiny fangs twinkling
                          as she smiles
Everything is     delicate

             you shall not remember what day
                       nor  what age you are

Authors Note: Inspired by The Last Kingdom


Yearning can know no interchange
                                [NO SOLICITING]
                                [NO >>>>TRADE]
it is the same record on mute
or so the sign says
The bold misunderstood translation

Along a bouquet of funeral flowers
           crushed wedding day doves
laid an eerie pastel flute
tuning ominous notes
for a deaf woman
            She has the most magnificent
                                  summer garden
            Asiatic lilies as big as your head

Goldenrod dreaming
Minus the gore
Sunrays on whisper white feathers & grey


{I passed out on the couch,
and I saw her benched there,
reminding me to ride her coaster.