Lasik

A wooden soldier hollowed out of oak;
Rage, raging against that machine which grasps
The rusted gears of a clock, melted sands;
The sedimentation blowing left into
A seif dune with a vortex seeping its way
'Cross the Pulmonary into the
Infundibulum, hissing like the valve
Of a tank of Nitrogen set ablaze;
Racing the forests of California.

A wooden soldier resupined in front
Of the Capitol Records Tower with
Perked ears entertained, silently laughing,
To the melody of "Love is Easy;"
Blinded by the smog, his veiny red eyes
Pupiled white, with no vision of Rome etched
On the walls of L.A.'s Coliseum;

Melodic abruptions, "Ain't no wrong now,
Ain't no right;" Nihilistic, when was this?
Where am I? How did I get here, this sand?
These dunes? A mirage of casinos held
Bitter in the distance, swathed by the scrapes
In the sky, hyperactive in their dance
To the aurora flaring through down-pours
Which feather the sanctum of the outskirts;

A wooden soldier deporting his oak.

(c) 2011

Amnesty

Paper isn't always blank.
Its lines may be blurred,
By birth translated.

Yin's shadow eclipsed me
His wings out-stretched
His eyes, a cool azul,
Kindled my terra-cotta bones
He howled;

"I believe dem bones are me."

My heart thundered
My spine chilled
I cackled like Mr. Kurtz on laughing gas,
Then muttered;"Why?! Oh, why
Didn't I take the blue pill?!"

I blinked.

My cheek was sodden.
My pillow wet from Yang's tongue.
His eyes, a cool azul,
Gleamed with a husky's affection.

A little Viennese girl pet his back.
She wore a collar round her neck.
Her leash held by an old man from Glibovac.
I salved them with a smile.

(c) 2011

Like a Butterfly

Bright and full of the oppressing heat of the sun,
The clouds, white and celestial, hold my gaze:
Distant and near; my eyes drape,
Like a calm river flowing,
Into the depth of space and time that forge my dreams,
Transcending me into their heights,
Where the mountains are no more than hills:
And I, like a butterfly, float
Into a kingdom made of gold,
And glittering like the ocean reflecting the rays of the sun;
A sun that blazes without heat.

(c) 2011

Bill Patrick

My mind is like a dismantled camera;
Each frame, each recording touched by Alejandro's soul;
With thoughts treading water while attempting recognition:
But what is there to recognize;
A voice could tell a lie while it tells the truth,
And my memories echo with these voices,
tossing me into a blender:
Everything seems together, but out of place;

Some out of authenticity.

(c) 2011

Eerie Musings

I.
A lady,
Haggard and worn,
By the frail years gone by,
Talking serious with strangers
Projected in her mist.

II.
She held herself bitterly upright
With stern eyes glaring through lenses,
Like a queen over-looking
Her serfdom as she struts
The sidewalks of a small town.

III.
A pair of friends,
Their words over-joyous and many,
"I have so much to talk about
With you. Are you hungry?
Do you wanna go to Applebee's?"
"No, I can't"
"Nonsense!
"Nonsense, come along.
I have so much to talk about
That's been stressing me lately."
"I can't. I'm sorry, I can't."
"Well, I'm leaving and going to the car.
I expect you there with me."


(c) 2011

Jaundice

"And the Artificial die
Like yellow No. 5."

I'm in the sunny city
On a pier overlooking the Pacific,
Imagining my dream as she lulls me to sleep
The lull of the ocean, tranquil and steady.
There she is! This can't be Imaginary!
My reward for fifteen minutes in the sun.

"Exposed to the heat,
They go yellow like an Amethyst."

The sun fades into the horizon
- Gradual; the shackles of Alcatraz
Reflected in the waters of the Pacific.

Who am I?
What have I now become?
An android with Jaundice is just as soulless.

I thought I saw an angel before me
But felt her breath shiver up my spine.
She whispered;

"15 minutes in the sun
And the Pacific will live in Alcatraz."

(c) 2011

21

For me, empthy is an escape from the weight of being,

An attempt to regain my 21 grams:

Every dream is a grand opera,

with the hypnotic voice of an Indian liberator

beckoning me down the road:

My eyes focus on a fork;

Right, and my dreams fade
Like winter reclaiming the summer meadow;

But if left, I begin to wreak of wonderland's isolation:

I long to regain my 21 grams.

For I can only rejoice in celebration

When these stones have finally feathered

(c) 2011