Dinner Scene

When there's no seat at the table
he forged one
and added it on the end.
Wrens fluttered about his bride
whistling soft
singing aloft the rafters.
He showed his teeth
in a smile
each piece symmetrically white.

The avians metered chorus
promoted harmony melodically.
Each seated guest laughed lovingly
the atriums replying with chuckles.

A question came
to undo mood
its' tenor rude
the subject named
his bastard son.
He showed his teeth
baring them
daring them
to ask again
of missing babes.

The question fell
and talk resumed
the table would be
cleared off soon.
Lords and ladies
then would dance
for few would
rather chance
prompting doom.

The candles are snuffed
their heat gutters
the strength of sparks
now a sputter
of trailing smoke.
Guests have left
at hosts' behest
the masters find
they're lonely.
Having seen
a former queen's
distant cousin
a baby
he
master of the house
wishes he weren't without
child
living with wife only.

Amends

He's gonna spit some real shit

after he has learned it.

For now the how and why go by

stared at through unblinking eyes

in an antlered head wed

w/beams of light bright and fast

incomprehensible from their first flash

to their last shine shown before they passed.

Which is cause and whom effect

is unknown as should he boast or regret

the compromises made and people met

halfway between hard and wet

b/c both happened simultaneously

with startling similarity

the unsimple simultaneity can be,

sharp enough in stark relief

to spark doubts in clouds of hasheesha

whether the meaning's captured

or by blind idiocy released,

ah shucks

awe sheesh

events are intertwined

there's Jim

ask Him

he's Dandy enough

to cut down a dandelion shaft

even-in-halves

u see the semis

in the circumference

yet the circle's

in the hemis

each whole contains smaller parts

that-at-any-time start

congregation into new formations

always potential

sometimes available

momentarily real

gone before you feel

the momentous bumper's

impact.

Triumvirate of Couplets

Free is man from man when a fellow exerts no influence
and we are bound friend to enemy by social dependence.
A man doesn't think upon the ending of his days
but only attempts continuing his well-trod ways.
A lot of folks would have to die to make the world a better place,
but after they're dead and buried they'd only be replaced.

Clearly

Ve click on favorites lists and (links clinking their bolts both subtly and loudly trying to untie themselves from a toolbar) c if there's anything new-to-do.
F5 on news sites, forums, feeds and social networking sites is a refrigerator door closed then reopened.
Peekaboo.
It's a basic human madness: hope. The belief something good'll turn up b/c you want it to.

We vear uniforms blazing the colors we're loyal to.
When you rule it doesn't matter if you're right only if you're agreed with. Subordinates are not appointed for getting things done but b/c they do what you say.
Majin Buu.
Let yourself be sealed and you make authored fiction real.

The last laws were lies all but this nth time the retried relationship of laceration will work.
Keep obedient to Who Takes What You Have and you'll get what you want.
Pikachu.
Love your captor. Live where he holds you. Fight whom he told you.

Zz...z

The open door is an open mouth and I feel it wants to spout me out to roam about,

exhume me south from my dwelling with an expelling exhalation so I don't sprout roots binding my shoes to this plain plane of blue cobbled carpet.

Sitting still feels like a nut about to bust wanderlust is nuts.

What winds me up so my spine whines when sitting emitting an electric neuron impulse to neurotically pace post-haste and quit when exhausted?

Hunger's an energizer but milling isn't filling the quota I dote over very often: how many places I've been in per minute aught to've caught my accountant's attention but not a move takes away tension.

I'm pensive, pent in when standing in an open landing, a clearing with stars for a ceiling isn't selling me fulfilling healing I'm wondering then wandering mentally and physically shifty.

Could be a gift, for he who drifts most lifts his glass in glad toast to more sights than men who keep in the lights.

Exploring isn't trailblazing when someone has been there before or no follower blasts stumps 'til the path's cleared, pebbles laid and smoothed grooveless by sandals, hacked thoroughfares our handles on undiscovered lands fair and inviting.
My motor's cranked permanently so I attempt the accent more energetically than my peers in lower gears.

Domitable

Gus sees a spaceship.
Can you say spaceship?
Gus raises a fuss.
"Don't give me no lip"
his Dad says.
You don't hear a pip
from Gus, after that.

Gus sips a milkshake.
It's malted chocolate.
The flavor's fake.
Gus eats a burger.
It has cheese and bacon.
It's stolen by a burglar.

Gus leaves a tip.
He gets home late.
His parent's trust
their dog Grr
is on the Res.

Gus is at an altar
where a candle's lit
for his brother
so it may alter
his future.
The visit's another
chore Gus mustn't falter
in performing.

Osmosis

Creased heaps of criss-crossed sand pucker in mournful wind to ask for chapstick.
Seeds wilt and crack, sucking on dust.
Leaves green veins sprain, splay open, wrinkle into yellowed crisps.
Stalks slouch, bowing to the weight of petal-shedding flowers.
King sun smites fields dead.
Shirtless shallow-stomached farmers fret with rakes against rows the rare storms pound flat.
Leafless trees hold their moisture, comatose, turning purple for lack of breath.
Lightning splits them in rainstorms, quicker than cheetahs, leaving layers of aqua-beads thinner than dew.
Hungry mother's tits hang low, babies suckling though there's no milk to lactate, crying with thirst when their mouths are empty.
Boys with strength enough to run catch lizards for snacks.
The rare cattle are inured to flys chewing at the corners of their eyes where mucus crusts.
The highlight of weeks of living for children is a black-winged cloud of migrators texturing the sky.
Teenagers are tired of the sight.
Fathers hope their older children will take joy in the birdshade again.
White-haired elders have learned the ants' march, a harvest that survives, and a sky split by flying feathers are the good times to enjoy.