Skylar and Doug (I)

I.

By the time the wedding ended
Skylar was over it.
Seeing Doug under pressure
had reduced her blue
liquid eyes to a thick
syrup ready to fall
into the repose of marriage.

Above him,
the wind tugged violently
at the cloth firmament
pinned by a phalanx
of alabaster spears  –
so subtle a struggle
that no one would eulogize
their nameless
valor.

Pearls hung in her hair
like daytime stars.
Bathed and jeweled
she was as clean as an angel.
Doug secretly
worried that beneath
that billowed fog
which rolled
from under her corset
was a waterfall
he would dissolve in.

The artificial kiss
had felt like skin under gold.
The watchers gasping
from on high
as Doug reached within himself
to unearth their intimacy
in this backyard colosseum.
His heart roared like a lion
even now as his mouth
mimicked a hyena’s laugh
at Skylar’s drunk uncle’s buffoonery.

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One Day You Will Stand

You will stand one day, surrounded by loved ones
Perhaps one too many, with perhaps too many memories
and when you look out onto the sea of colors
You’ve dreamt about since you were young
There will be once exception – a bright red tux
owned by the piano man – hired to play his songs
he looks oddly familiar to you.

Never the less you breathe deep.
Before things can get started his fingers move
unlike anything you’ve ever seen, perhaps except in a dream
and his black shaggy hair begins to sway
as a familiar tune begins to play.

You aren’t supposed to cry that early in the night
at least that wasn’t the plan
But no power either god or man could’ve stop the tears
as you recognize that song,
memories of passed nights,
slow dances, one too many drinks,
and scribbled poems on cloth napkins
at stuffy suit and tie affairs.
Afterwards you will look for the man to ask why
on earth he would play such a tune
or if perhaps he somehow knew –
but he had gone.

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The Curse You Want

She knows you want it,
and she’ll make you want it more
because she can, because she’s the narcotic
who brings your jaw to the floor.
She’s in your hand, but you’d better ask her
Or she won’t open her eyes to you.
She’s in demand, so call her your master.
She’s got a power you can’t look through.

She let’s you hold her – her skin is like the wild
The shape of desire; the color of venom.
She is the molder and shaper of the servile
passions her kind inspires – lions in denim.
She can expose more of her feline form
with her clothes than is there when she’s naked.
It drives you mad that such miracles oppose men,
and that God changed the deal, after you were created.

She’s your bone, your skin, the breath
that she takes away. Are you without her,
or within? Your mind spins, the death
you chose is the one with her. From matter
you came, and to matter you will return.
She was taken from you, but she was already there,
in the blueprint of the garden
that you left in despair.
Twin tangled bed sheets, red and white,
double coiled helix – the garden that night. 

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The Winter Wedding

The earth was dressed in snow
To honor the pure unity
Of the blessed virgin.

The tolling bell called the fall to slow
So the air could arrest the lunacy
of the solemn surgeons;

Images forged in defiance of the cold
and tested by madness with no immunity
or conversion.

A tear falls, becoming a snowflake as it goes
down a cheek, over a breast, across infinity
until the night’s conclusion.

Love calls the blessed ones to show
a symbol of their impunity,
An embrace of seclusion

wraps their origins in the throws
of wild ambiguity.
Afterward both will mourn the temporality of the fusion,

The frosty winter blows
icy singularity
A reminder of their flawed condition.

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The Morning of Execution

The incarned beauty rests
reclined, her hemlock colored eyes
Preparing for her test.

Despite his recent arrest
the horror of the loved and wise
The incarned beauty rests.

Alcestis’ blood pumping in her chest
Her hands, resting on his thighs,
Are preparing for her test.

Unaware of the gathering guests
and the unfurling of the elydoric skies
The incarned beauty rests.

Aesclepius’ cock greets the morning in protest,
She wonders if his closest allies
Are prepared for her test.

This union required her to invest
More than this world so small in size.
Yet, the incarned beauty rests
Preparing for her test.

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Wheel People

Do you hear the sound
of the inevetable failure
to describe a meaning?

The cry of a tear going down
A mother’s face, a salty cure
An ocean for the weaning.

Do you see the town,
In their eyes, unexplained allure,
as if they had been dreaming?

Layered leaves, a wedding gown
The reign of pure
Radiant Light intervening.

Let the gods gather ’round
immortality secured
were the humans were convening.

Let us follow holy ground
A journey to ensure
The way back to our beginning.

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Hand-in-Hand

Boy and Girl walk hand-in-hand
The ash of apocolypse is snow
falling from the ground into the air.
Pressed between their fingers, time is slow
A clutched black hole, a defiant stand
For the angels and their heirs.
“Breathe in the dead and dying and hold them to your lung”

His voice is cloudy in the night.
She is silent, reverent, but bright
Like the reflection of the dying sun
Hanging where it had been crucified
By the angry faithless men.

The two spent that night in the garden
Where everything began
And silently undid creation
without a word, without a note of regret
just a unity… hand in hand

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