Conscience

Two pidgeons slurred in pinwheels,
churned their voices into bubbling chyme
against the inviting and fuzzy coat of morning's light;
they spieled on different reels,
spewed wars of illiterate songs,
rampant at the threat of the afternoon's deathly heat.
They dropped music notes onto the concrete,
which broke in halves, wholes, and quarters,
and debated the duet they thought to be innate.
And, crusted by the dawn, flapped on, and on, and on.

NaNoWriMo 2009. [Update 11/30/2009]

The Zookeeper

A quadruplet of jellyfishes deviously loomed,
with their tentacles sneaking vine-like round a tree,
squirming, hissing and pissing scheduled poison
into the wrinkle of Jim's withering arm.
"Crucified by jellyfish?!" screamed Jim,
yet the words refused to pave their way through exhausted lips.

"Now are you in any pain?"

Pain? Pain?
"Are you a zookeeper? An executioner?"
Jim rightfully accused.

The jellyfish hadn't liked the idea;
the executioner hadn't liked the idea.

"I'm just going to give you some Potassium;"

No! Don't you dare touch!
But Jim could not leave nor flee;
"Since when did jellyfish have such a strong grip?"
he surmised; his arms wouldn't bulge.

"Now what's the matter, Buddy?"

What's the matter? There is a team of jellyfish floating above me!

"Now what's the matter, Buddy?"

A fire ignited underneath Jim's wrinkle--
it spread through the toes and caused his stomach to billow;
he felt his toes fluctuate and the back of his hand began to skip;
he felt his forehead leak, his lips evaporate.

The jellyfish suddenly swam away with Jim.
"I didn't know I could swim here," thought Jim.
A mermaid floundered to his side and sweetly cooed:
"Now what's the matter, Buddy?"
And Jim was surprised to find his lip on his stomach.

The sea water must have doused the arm,
thought Jim. "Oh, nothing's wrong Ariel."
"Nothing, nothing's wrong."
The mermaid blew him a kiss and winked.

"Atta boy."

Retrospect

'tacked the cold with a photo album
I pulled up to my shoulders
(open-faced and spine-up)
as I curled on my side
(like the teethy promises of the smiles enclosed).
Etherised on my bed, injected with nostalgia.

Brighten Your Day

With a natural shot.

a toast to time.

Stop staring at the clock.
Tick, Tick. Tock, Tock.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock.
A litany of deafening drumbeats
To match the sound of your slowly dying heart.
No matter which way you look at it, it's always the same:
Life passes by in fast-forward all around
And you're left alone, as frozen as the vacant look in your eyes.

L'chaim, you say. To life.
You drink to life, basking in the delight
Of every raised glass and every glorious sip.
Inebriated debauchery animating each stumble, each misstep.
And escaping your lips, utterances of poetic disaster.
Senseless drawings fill the ever blank pages of the Steno pad of your imagination
The glass falls, scattering broken shards as hard as your luck,
In a salute of farewell to the last vestiges of your consciousness.

False confidence, destroyed in your raging torment:
False as the flimsy idols built to protect your fractured ego.
You count off each broken bead on the rosary of your identity,
Algebraic nonsense never to depart from the jumbled architecture of your mind.
Succumb to the misguided voices that call to you.
The blinding light of reality descends upon your disembodied soul,
Lost forever to the nameless and faceless ambiguity of the world.

You pulled the trigger.

You

stood up and turned

But you looked back

Over your shoulder

Contacted my eyes

Saw through to my soul

Yet continued to walk on.

Then finally

The bang from the fired

Blaring through the silence

And a warm gush of emotions:

My spilled heart, my sweat and blood

The exit of a tear

My wound, my shattered windows

And I.