Veins configure, snaking,
coursing under skin, hot
and full of blue blood,
converging on Route 66
headed for the heartland,
where the earth pulses
and breathes red creation,
supervising the bellows,
thumping life forward,
a fixture of any good body.
Category: NaPoWriMo
NaPoWriMo (8)
They say
intuition waxes
and wanes, where
sometimes you feel
earth’s breath and others
find you pounding
concrete, seeking answers
from a mischievous psyche,
never keen on letting
go a good inference,
always hungry, always
awake through the night,
prescribing my dreams.
NaPoWriMo (7)
Negligence costs you,
I always say to my elbows,
the prominence despicable
yet always intriguing–
cows flourish on
grass and sun, take
their grazing seriously.
“Wherever you take me, I hope it’s not too cold there.
My hands have poor circulation, and if they’re bound up
with three feet of rope and stuck into a sixty-five degree room,
I’m likely to lose them for good. That almost happened to me
during my brief POW stint in capture the flag when I was ten.
They bound me up and threw me into the medical trailer, or ‘jail’,
whereupon I proceeded to chatter my teeth and scream for twenty minutes.”
“It’ll be plenty warm where you’re going, bub. Don’t you worry.”
NaPoWriMo (6)
The clock is ready, Herr Doktor!
No need to address me that way.
Apologies, my liege, I was merely–
My liege? You’re trying too hard.
I understand, but this is my nature!
Do you have a family, Morris?
Yep, wife and boy, 31 and 3 respectively.
I should hope so. Do they get tired?
Of course, they’re always connected at the hip–
No, I mean, do they get tired of you?
I should hope not. My wife likes me this way!
Pity.
NaPoWriMo (5)
Nary a storm cloud, though I do feel quite shitty.
It’s never the weather that turns me this way,
though cold and damp conditions certainly help.
The thought of a feather scraping through the air
in a constant updraft–dropped by a vulture
as it circled around suspected prey–calms me,
tells me the world has its order, its reason to live,
and if I can’t accept that, I’m buzzard bait.
NaPoWriMo: Day 4
Stalling media circuses smell like grandiose gestures made for clowning, not
necessarily a healthy way to spend your last fifty cents. Though most agree
with those policies, I figure one fish against the current can’t do much,
unless it plugs itself into the wrong end of the influential vacuum, cutting
off its own air supply to free all its kind from a straight march forward
through nothingness–they can veer, spin and smack fins at the novelty of
free motion. The preconceived pathway vanishes before their eyes, and to
their amazement, they may putter along in any old direction, even the one
from which they came! The more sentimental creatures return to the scene
of the crime, their once vital friend limp, head still serving as a cork–
precedent and history, its friends give thanks and praise, as is proper.
NaPoWriMo: Day 3
I had a few stubborn teeth
as a cub scout-aged kid
that threatened never to come out.
My dentist took X-rays
of my overbiting jaw
when I was nine [going on ten]–
I lack several adult teeth
from the day I was born,
so the next logical step
would be to pull out those
orphaned, anchoring pearls
before they fused to the bone.
WHARVED 