He awaits incipiently, calling my name.
He haunts me every time I am pushed away.
A murmurous echo calls for “fair game.”
My heart imbues with terror as he points, as he aims.
His face, I am unable to construe.
Only an unseemly penumbra within my view.
His metal flickers with moonlight, flaunting taboo.
I hold onto the memories, unceasingly new.
The labyrinthine byways of the sky entail
an unrelenting current that I cannot assail.
And so I swim into the sky, to what avail?
The insouciant 45 targets me and then prevails…
A susurrous sound suppresses my scream
with the whistling of a winding stream.
The redolence exposes his true scheme.
Petrichor sedatives send me into another dream.
Though this carries me into another dimension,
I die in the evanescence of inception
and continue this pattern if I do not awaken.
So then I awake.
My past is the root of the reoccurring occasion.
A sempiternal nightmare that only worsens with apprehension.
|Set on Fire|
“Love is a friendship set to music,” says
Campbell. Imitations of ice and fire.
The night is imbued infernally with
A victim of my deranged hand and mind,
I am amiss and intentionally
Please, I plead, dance with me. Through the night,
blend and bow before the break of daylight.
Goodbye is forbidden. Please don’t say it.
We clasp each other as if the fire is
We still feel the rhythm of yesterday’s
movement like a still cruise ship, berthed at bay.
The waves consume your senses and you sway.
Without the undeniable
velocity, unable to stay.
You sustain the unsound and recreate
this hypothetical, whimsy, ideal, and
primitive dance with your elusive mate.
Why this phenomenon takes place
is near to the mind. I think of the space
between us now. Is it truth or dare?
I would say my feelings are sparing
But as the night went, you saw a flaring
ravenous, revelation, as I did.
Something I have always felt to forbid.
I am in limbo and I am in love.
It really is tougher admitting of
a passion deeper than a simple thought,
lifeless trait, or a telling elation.
Where understanding is more
than a simple… rationalization.
The tempo slows, imperceptibly.
At what point did we lose the chemistry?
Just because the music breaks, so do we.
And so we lose touch, we lose elegance.
We’ve misplaced all of our expressiveness
The beguine has ended. And time is gone.
Take a bow; I’ll curtsy because we are
“Love is a friendship set to music,” says
Joseph Campbell. I do agree with this.
|Support the Local Economy|
Is that all you can do?
States the woman who looks at me through
her hoax Gucci’s and lift’s her arm as if on queue
She’s clutching a knockoff tightly—the way of life
Paycheck to paycheck, the ambiance, like a knife.
Who am I to anticipate she is deprived.
“Nice glasses,” I say, out of my inquisitive nature.
Eying the potential purchase, “Internet,” she gestures.
I was right. She’s a penny-pinching—Frugal answer.
My thoughts interrupted by her parrots, I mean children.
“Mom are we gonna get the Apple? Everyone else has one!”
“Depends,” mom utters. Oh the Internet, that villain.
They proceed to play on Facebook. She stands taller.
She’s playing hardball, however, I know better.
“This product is price protected, Mrs. Keller.”
She’s not buying it, literally or figuratively.
“Online is cheaper–” she declares combatively.
I didn’t hear past that, she was off brusquely.
In the parking lot, she passes over a nail.
Surely, down the road the tire wears frail.
Then she ironically curbs McGee. “Oh hell!”
The wood against the door indicates an economic loss.
“But I need help now!” yet she skedaddles to the shop.
Hung on the window, “Visit mcgee.com!” it says all the way across.
In smaller letters reads “We were forced to close,
couldn’t afford rent or wages due to the web, we suppose.
Now we pay the minimum, no overhead! Oh, the pros!”
Mrs. Keller calls her husband who works online.
But he’s busy on Facebook instead of the Airline.
He’s chatting with a friend and expects to unite
He drives unknowingly past his wife and kids
towards the hotel, his actions he knows, God forbids.
Once he arrives, in the parking spot, he skids.
A fat man awaits his presence with a dagger.
He’s not an alluring woman, but a vengeful killer.
The husband dies but here’s the thriller:
Years back, the killer, Joe was a car mechanic.
Worked for Mr. Keller who was a gluttonous manic.
They worked as manager and sales rep in this gigantic,
store called McGee.
Mr. Keller fired Joe for spending his working hours online.
And then Mr. Keller was laid off for the lacking of labor and time.
Both part of one sad-sad rhyme.
Joe fancied a discount. He was fired for purchasing a used Apple
due to his hours cut in half. Mr. Keller, that hackle!
Joe received nothing less than crushed pineapple.
I promise I’ll tell you the lies I was never told.
And I vow we will not hold you the way I was held.
Daddy’s touch will be adoring, tender, and warm.
Not strange or weird. Nothing out of the norm.
You will believe in fairy tales and will be a princess.
Santa will bring you presents if you were good for Christmas.
And I swear you will grow into a fearless and ambitious,
You will believe in Cupid, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth fairy, and the Grinch.
You will understand that later in life,
You were only a child.
And all of the fantasies were only a pinch
of precious time that will forever be engrained into your wild
Dearest Brooklyn, you are the center of Mommy’s world.
Even as you kick and swim, in an incredible ball, curled,
You are the light of my life, my newest chapter
And probably the last in Resiliency.
The book where my life begins in disaster.
And ends faster than I’d realized,
With you in my hands and with all this love in my heart.
“A different, special kind of love,” says your smart
A feeling that we knew when you came to be
And you, beautiful Brooklyn, hold the key.