Bloated; by the sound of plummet.
Staggering to the summit,
confused by the crossed wires
and wooden stakes that have conjured
REVOLUTION!

Released; pressured by the guards.
A rat fleeing rising water, feasting upon shards,
acutely aware of the maze
and artificial structures that have comforted
REVULSION!

Toiled; to regain cognition.
Pelting the bowl with ammunition,
body quivers with dew
for this reality is inherited (apparently)
EXPLOSION!

Stroking each fine strand
additional touch to lobe
despite my sneezing
you continue slumber
comforted by my free hand,
I make no demands
tracing your lines;
we have been drawing together so long,
you are my beautiful picture
at 5 AM in the morning.

My hand aged, but steady
with pure joy,
you were awake moments ago
making me laugh though tired.

I continue to draw you,
while you sleep...
and smiling while I'm writing...
you are my one
my Marky,
your breath tickles my pores.

The beating heart;
red with confusion.

The computing brain;
fighting an insurrection.

The stomach a saboteur;
setting all parties to war.

Awake, asleep? Stuck in between.

Flight taken on shaky wings,
the coldness rips at flesh;
dripping an abundance of mixed images,
body a shattered mess.

A chair; an exotic destination.
A bottle; a nuclear pill at the ready.
A hand; wishes not to take it.

Wired awake, bring it on you *******!
Quake at the waves of violence.

Shrill, elegant scales,
swirl to form the mighty beast.
Fire spectacular, crimson sheen
splayed; a dire circumstance,
flowing around the base.

Attempt to merge within the vision,
the whole shape recoils;
not in fear, but in haste,
for the contents under pressure
would destroy,
a perfunctory account,
of the grandeur that must lay beneath.

Away with form to a single point,
free to contemplate the burden...
reduced to the atom, where I split
and split and split,
and swirl in to the mighty beast.

From the vantage, I show my crest,
my tongue a serpent's, my eyes glow
and cut across time, my wings an ornate fusion;
in this context simply ornamentation,
but none have gotten so close as to reduce to
an atom, and follow to a single point...
so I let out a mighty shrill sound and burn my surroundings...
spent and swirled,
a reduction comes after a sword strike,
a critical blow...
pierced heart.

No Matter, I swirl to a single point.
Lay eyes upon me again,
my metamorphosis shall rise,
and for that blow, I shall unleash new form,
and let forth a deafening call
to my ancestors, for the strength to endure.

I swirl,
and swirl,
and swirl.


http://www.robross.ca

There is an originating plum
with tasty flesh, that teeth can't bare to hide,
all are cut in sections,
neatly assembled
ready for the scrum.

Set out on ingestion,
each thought kicked around,
they go in formation,
massive bodies closely bound.

There will be no agreement,
on bitter sweet,
there will only be the score,
we lost, we won,
we loved
the fight!

Tasty is the plum,
as it passed around...

http://www.robross.ca

Tickled pink by your suggestion,
the way you speak,
crisply; wires crossing.

Sensations creep from ground,
roots grapple with personality;
always smiling.

I think of you softly,
I think of you hardly,
I think of you smiling,
I think of you crying.

Weeping like a willow,
I'm growing,
I send down the lines of engagement,
you swing from my branches...
hurling to and fro...
both smiling...
both laughing...

let these be the memories,
that seed the future...

let these be the memories,
that allow us to grow.


http://www.robross.ca

The mighty hand of God
pinches the valve in my heart,
blocking blood flow,
causing clots,
His fingers blot out the sun,
and close my mind,
to art and poetry,
His breath and mere mention of his son,
send me in to convulsion,
and I spring forth in revolution!

Garnered force during rest,
attacked at the weakest point of night,
this hand, your hand, coil around like snake,
sheathed in good graces,
appearance transforms to wolf,
dogged teeth reared, mouth foaming,
howling of justice, in a wild froth.
I have no choice but to cast forth the stones,
from bile duct, passed by my good graces.

Now a tired warrior,
I exist as a Devil in disguise,
my war paint faded,
as I'm touched by the longing,
I can understand the plight,
but I can't stand being poked and prodded,
by the Mighty hands that choke,
and they all Know the workings of valve and heart,
as they perpetrate
'His' artful form.


http://www.robross.ca