Wolf Eats Midnight

Wolf Eats Midnight

 

Ever sink your teeth

Into the Moon’s candy coat

 

Ever exhale frosted breath

The color of cosmic expansion

 

Ever sprinkle sugar

Over your bowl of asteroids

 

Ever clean your plate

Of all traces of northern lights

 

Ever sip a cupful

Of black hole tea

 

Never ever eat

With a wolf like me

Prowling the Isles of the Muse Store

Prowling the Isles of the Muse Store

 

I’ve seen the looks I get

When I prowl the isles of the muse store.

Sloth eyes slithering stoned

Over packaged people

And dragging my lead indecision.

 

All the self-advertisement

Trying too hard to be a freak,

Individuality stamped right next

To the certified organic stickers.

 

Amble through the rows of

Manic pixies and strangers,

Running my hands across all the molds

Waiting for some sign of life.

I know artificial sparks by now.

 

The newer models, with their drawstring

Dialog and whimsical factory settings

Say it all right, and that perfection

Is the problem.

 

Of course, the clearance rack

And hand-me-downs should

Be where I find what I’m looking for,

And I’m fond of tracing the lines of scars,

Yet the familiarity scares me.

 

So instead I wander and touch

The cold plastic, double-checking

Price tags with the online retail prices,

Another shambling mound

 

I scuffle and shift, careful not to

Bump elbows with the others,

The Ginsberg’s and Whitman’s

And all them bearded poets

I see at our weekly meetings.

 

I’ve seen the looks I get

When I prowl the isles of the muse store,

Illuminated under that neon sign,

“Poets Must Pay In Cash.”

Hoodoo

Here’s to those

Capped by special rocks,

Holding it all on their shoulders,

 

Here’s to those

Dancing the three-six-five waltz,

Gyrating and shoe gazing,

 

Here’s to those

Silent observers stuck

In knowledge’s gloomy shadow,

 

Always here,

As always, here’s

To those

Who are here forever

 

Here’s to those

Who conspire with the rain,

Born from weeping cumulonimbus,

 

Here’s to those

Desert dwellers and

Inanimate Northwest golems,

 

Here’s to those

Casting oblong shadows

Without a audience to care,

 

Always here,

As always, here’s

To those

Who are here forever,

Those who are here

Holding it all on their shoulders.

Late Night Double-Feature Creature

She was getting real sick,

            Gotta give em what they want boys,

Of being asked to the late night double–feature,

            Gotta make lots of noise,

The on with the monster flick first,

            Cars spilled like popcorn convoys,

She was looking for a real reason to apply lipstick,

            Gotta wear that sweater she enjoys,

The kind of kiss to confess to her preacher,

            Gotta fight the urge to be coy,

A fella with Coca-Cola eyes to quench her thirst,

            Yawn and stretch with perfect poise,

A hand on her thigh totally unrehearsed,

            Gotta drop the cliché ploys,

Pushed up against the dashboard heater,

            Gotta tune out the Mummy noise,

She was tired of feeling like a lunatic,

            No matter what her heart destroys,

Of repressing her inner creature,

            Gotta make lots of noise,

Of silver screen laws enforced,

            Gotta give em what they want boys,

 

 

She was getting real sick of being asked to the late night double-feature flicks,

She was getting real sick of being asked by those protagonist boys,

She, the only real late night double-feature creature.

Climate’s Change

(via Daily Post, Finite)

 

The flames are always finite,

For they rely on the generous giving of

Others bodies for their warmth.

Eventually they get climatized

To the predatory pity and decide to fade,

Ash to dirty ash, spinning and

Cackling like newborns

As they spin free, dust returned

To dust, so fine it lingers

In your life line and love line

Through each wash, growing darker

And more a part of your skin.

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