I
—
Come follow me into the wooded hills
Away from all the jargon, nonsense, noise
And re-use old forgotten paths with me
Past beer cans, past junk food wrappers, past gum,
Past dead cigarette butts that could have sparked
A fire here where lightning needs no help:
The forest outskirts are dry—dry as sex Continue reading
My memory tends a garden plot,
But somehow sunflowers fail to grow.
The rose, of course, is everywhere: Continue reading
The Magician
Equipment’s ready: burner on,
Test tubes out, chemicals prepared;
My elements are marching pawns
To help me order chaos—dare
Frame a creation in strict lines
Looking unreal as clouds can be
Because the details are too fine:
They’re fallen drops of mercury
Exploding on the classroom floor
Vanished somewhere—to limbo streams
Of non-existent waiting or
To strands of web, forgotten meme.
The beasts—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—
Bellow fire, water, earth, and air
To fuel my furnace for divine
Blows from Mjöllnir. With Thor’s brawn
My brain expands but does not tear
As new forms merge from old decline.
The Ravens watch—from Odin’s Tree—
The Coin turn Cup and Wand turn Sword,
While I, Magician, hiss to seem
To speak, and smile my work to see:
Another room, another door
To build a Palace in your dreams.
write with lightning 