MySpace

Adrift in MySpace
where distance has evolved into sacred chambers,
hidden places,
and thoughts adorn silicon-chip walls,
as photographs,
skewed from whispers of illusory digital mache.

Bacterial Stones

The doctor called it a skin infection,
cellulitis to give it a proper medical name.
I thought it was the shepherd David
slinging missiles of bacterial stones.

There was a whoosh and whoosh windup--
which I didn’t see, but
the pain to my lower left shin
was Goliath as I ever felt.

Three thousand years of being dead
played havoc with the psalmist’s aim;
for this I “make a joyful noise”
and give praise unto the Lord.

Bouncing Off The Walls

There’s no sun today
arcing high like a basketball
floating down
through the steel ring of afternoon
disappearing in the nylon strings of night.

Only thunder clouds that cover,
like a robber’s mask,
with a muffled voice rumbling
to hand over my joy,
especially the stash
I keep hidden in the dog‘s leash.

I understand why
we won’t be playing outside today,
but Murphy-- my Aussie--
could care less about basketball,
and the only thief he’ll be barking at is me.

Light One Up

Are stars the flickering tips of cigarettes
being smoked by fallen angels that never sleep?
The sun, a fat smelly stogie burning down
to the last puff this world will ever know?

Paper rolling postulation?
Unfilterd thoughts of fantasy?

At the very least a musing
lighting up a smoke of imagination.

Something I Said

Words fall,
like soldiers on a field
of someone else’s choosing,

fatally wounded
in the trigger pull
of sound proof ears.