In the dusty blind mist of the bloodless battleground,
All I could sniff was me and my sweaty stale sweat,
I winked hard in the hope that I will wake up wide this time,
In the Antarctic,
Wrapped in the endless horizons of searing white ice,
Hugging a ******* Rock Crystal that hugged me back,
Wrapped in his smothering arms,
Giving me something more than warmth.
I called that rock, my God.
As it gave me the ******* euphoria of a warmth,
That I was not capable of winking the capture of.
Suddenly a wind blew, a soft breeze.
I slipped down my Rock, my God.
Fell into the icy lifeless ice of the Antarctic ice.
Suddenly, my body stopped and my lungs ****** icy dose of air out of my warm nose.
Almost as sudden and heavy the breeze was,
I pulled my soul out of the stiff static body of mine,
And started climbing the rock, my God.
I climbed and climbed and perched on the head of the rock, my God,
And captured the pale curves of my lifeless body, lying astray,
Just miles away.
With each second the breeze went past, my God reduced his warming embrace a little slight,
I realized I was melting into the rock, my God.
I withered and threw my hands at the clouds,
But all that the clouds willed to part was the icy tears of an early morning sky.
Falling into the ecstasy of the ultimate free fall,
I fell without a thud,
into the rock, my God.
I did not choke, cry or whimper.
For my God was awaiting my soul, with greatest Grandeur,
In the void of the Deep ******* Rock, my God.
I saw a million me, glazing, glaring and galloping away from me.
For the rock I called my God,
had eyes now.
It had searing red blood-shot eyes,
I could sense the waves around me trying to guard me and beckon me to run before I was mutilated by the God.
God, he reached into my toes and bowed into me.
I slipped again, but I never fell again.
And he screamed a chant that drained the remnant li'l life outta me.
And, then I never heard the thud but the cosmos whizzing past me, forever.
And he whispered Luck for my tirade, charade and ultimate abode!

my friends, my friends
we are birds on power lines
huddled for warmth
specks against the grey
surrounded by the late october gloom
and the steam rising up from the gutters
we are restless and sour
eyes pointing outward
-
every step
every teensy, solitary step
sealed with egg shell footprints
womb nostalgia
tenderness found in autumn colored flashes,
moth-wick sparkles, and fried dandelion blossoms
we remember our grandmas’ knuckles,
chipped tiles on the kitchen floor
-
my dear, my dear
we are stray brown tabbies
bellowing rumble, ears stripped of fur
settled into our corner of the front porch
once we were roustabouts;
waltzing to the waxing and wane
carpeted floors gave way to concrete chill
but now the summers seem longer
-
the smell of cardboard,
cinder block walls, and duck pond water
stale memories with naked omens
we turn to face the chilling draft;
tomorrow
harping on and on about grey areas
while we kick up alley gravel
balanced by surface tension
-
under quilts counting freckles
plasma paychecks peddling uphill