You know the feeling when you sip tea and feel yourself falling through the floor, pummeling into the  center of the earth without  the aid of a spoon, out the south end and keep going? This is that.

Choka #22
Bumped off of the plank
The trumping of values made
Into deeper depths
The EVER perfect swan dive
Igniting prospects
Through the blackest of wonder
If a god’s in sight
He’s not a doctor dentist 
Don’t let out an Ahhhhhh….
Keep the mouth shut up
The fourth emotive of awe
Is not respected
Just enjoy the brief transit
Powered by flashlight
Even with failing batt’ries
Devouring space
Comparing heavenly bods
Moguls to man’uver
Expanding beyond concept

Those winging singing
Shadows on their high horses
a hum of ‘not here’
Only the orchestra’s string
Section tuning up 
Sounding like birds answering
Each other with riffs
enie meanie minie moe
Ready for the kill
Leave only a clouded view
of un-spectac'lar
A quick glimpse of an eclipse.
Small green crucifix’
Are worn turned toward their hearts
I’ve seen things that you 
People would never believe
Printed on white tees
While the boldest of type in
permanent squeaker
Has Need to Get out Much More
Louder than needs be 
Is writ on human foreheads
Don’t look in our eyes
And you will not discover
The look of distrust
They turn heads as comets do
Then elegantly
Trail the sharp icy crystals
Of being stood up
It is the best they can do
Post-cosmic gotcha —
You will know that Surrender
Isa powerful tool

In scrambling to pick up  
Scent with broken wings
I see the loathsome shadow…
There is the hangman
He’s fumbling with the noose
Not an ideal end
But for when the lights glow up
Velocity in leaving
Why look under here?
For the love of your life call
And I kid you not
Recognizable —
His right hand will be hidden
And his face will be bowed low.

10th DoM — Choirs of Shadow Flying by Violent Eclipse


A bone yard can seem like an apocalyptic setting. This one, just outside the enormous theme park held parallel two popular pedestrian roads. The acreage could be seen above composed as a massive Zen garden holding enormous neon signs half covered in false ivy and topiary, a dead dragon exposing its skeleton of wire guts where maché skin had been eaten away by rodents, and a façade of a charred saloon. Indescribable and misunderstood humps of lost-useful things too big to be trapped indoors all nestled on the bleached antiseptic sand. The wabi-sabi of calm and individual. From the ground it looked like a giant’s playpen that had thrown toys around to amuse himself, or perhaps to strategize warfare of objects. Looked at a third time; a mental map, a large hippocampus’ treasure.  However, that is going a bit too far.

Jenny was a slight young woman intent on beginning over and over, with blunt feet with the posture of a stargazer. Wallace was studied in drawing an analogy between the macrocosmos of nature and the microcosmos of man, without much interest in between. He seemed never to begin nor end conversations, comfortable instead with a continuous inner speak that jumped out now and again.  Like miniature articulating dolls they appear from the direction of the ten-foot cyclone barrier. They have used this cut through many times and were not so unimpressed as familiar with the sites.

They walked through the distressed junkyard tossing out famous last lines.
“This is not as dangerous as it looks.”
“Ha, if weren’t safe they wouldn’t let us do it.”
“I can still drive.”
“We’ll be safe under here….”
“This rope will hold.”
Laughing came easily with easy company.

“Oh yea’” he said picking up a thread of an earlier conversation,
“I got it; every religious conviction then, by nature, is half speculative.”
When her confirmation was not forthcoming he added, “Qui tacet consentire videtur?”
“Right, grasshopper,” Jenny offered with a quirky smile erupting.

With her forearm she wiped back her long boyish sweaty bangs exposing an impressive birthmark over her center eye. It was a vestige of a former life.
He egged her onto a story he had heard numerous times. Thinking herself as being measured, she straightened her small frame, gaining composer and height as she walked on passing two-story ball and jacks, and a nest of archaeopteryx. Wallace smiled for what was coming and also for the advantage of now having space for his own thoughts. A bit of harmless trickery.

She told what she remembered, though words could not capture the richness and mystery of the tapestries that bore her image.
“We were not treated as well as you would expect. By nature we were holy things. The few of us evoked a since of preciousness to man but we were warriors and had to defend. Our safety vanished when we became known. When you are rare and as beautiful as we you do not need to rely on magic … only malice. Our lives where fierce winds. The hunters would use false magic. But, we were not touched by charms or caged by low fences. The men were cloaked in charity, holding nets of magic, uttering profanity under their breath at every defeat. They blamed us for attempting escape. They blamed us when their trickery did not land us and they only became more determined to incarcerate our spirit.”

Her face grew darker in the shadow of a ridiculous massive sea monster.

“When the secret weapon appeared — a glowing white symbolizing the comfort we sought — we eventually fell. We could not sway the Virgin for long. We were not so strong against Her allure. Who of the forest dwellers had the inner power to deny Her? We were caught and bred into delusion. We were reduced to the ineptly profane and spat with irreverence. Her bloodied white gown our embarrassing mantle. Mythosfied into plastic pastel colored ponies.”

Letting out a slow breath, Jenny brightened tossing her head back.
“Your turn,” she queued loud enough to jolt him from his obvious private reverie. 
“I was once and future primordial spec of which all things came to be and then the end.”

Wallace was whistling the preamble to the Superman Theme as they found the chink in the fence, maneuvered through, and were gone to the other side.