I:
Dagger stiletto heels digging deep into the sack offer no sense of giving slack. The promise of plummeting towards the Sun ironclad impervious to any assault seeking to undo the possibility of it happening. She hooks a cheek with her thumb -- taste of latex -- and treats the skin like a rubber band slingshot to hurl the head off world leaving the body behind to find it can do worse than go brainless. She casts sparks by tapping alligator clips against a battery. No way to know where to send the thank you card. Never asked her name. She just showed up one day.
II:
Climb to the roof
In search of proof.
Switchblade tongue
Sprung.
Lick-carve a slit.
Chomping at the bit
Fit through it
Into the sky.
Fall or fly?
III:
In a dry lake stones are still moving, drifting every winter on thin layers of ice lifting sometimes 700 pounds. The ice comes annually, vanishes quickly; and every year dozens come to watch the sky for signs of aliens who apparently have nothing better to do than travel light years just to nudge stones like intergalactic pranksters. No wonder they miss how the stones move -- eyes up instead of down.
IV:
Shuttle woven silk brocade
Made to adorn
Flies
Before the start of their lives.
Colored silk patterned
Ahead of births
With hope merely suggesting
Yet seemingly
A predestination
Staining the lens
So only one view comes clear
Except on starry nights
When a glimpse of infinity
Implies possibilities
Beyond the tapestry.
V:
He sat at the bar. Served up the usual seven times he asked for an empty shot glass. Chewed his thumb until it bled. Leaking ink he fetched a fountain pen from a pocket he forgot his pants had. Filling the scribe's best friend, he set to tattooing blank sheets with reality's aspects the likes of which few ever knew. How the sun is really green; the motion of planets outside Newtonian logic; microscopic galaxies drifting between their oversized cousins; the means to draw all the clouds from a gas giant. The paper completed he did like every weekend, soaked the pages in liquor, and set them on fire. No sense in sharing what no one's ready for, despite how it might prepare them for more -- an appetizer discarded.
VI:
Falling Through the Night
Dagger stiletto heels digging deep into the sack offer no sense of giving slack. The promise of plummeting towards the Sun ironclad impervious to any assault seeking to undo the possibility of it happening. She hooks a cheek with her thumb -- taste of latex -- and treats the skin like a rubber band slingshot to hurl the head off world leaving the body behind to find it can do worse than go brainless. She casts sparks by tapping alligator clips against a battery. No way to know where to send the thank you card. Never asked her name. She just showed up one day.
II:
Climb to the roof
In search of proof.
Switchblade tongue
Sprung.
Lick-carve a slit.
Chomping at the bit
Fit through it
Into the sky.
Fall or fly?
III:
In a dry lake stones are still moving, drifting every winter on thin layers of ice lifting sometimes 700 pounds. The ice comes annually, vanishes quickly; and every year dozens come to watch the sky for signs of aliens who apparently have nothing better to do than travel light years just to nudge stones like intergalactic pranksters. No wonder they miss how the stones move -- eyes up instead of down.
IV:
Shuttle woven silk brocade
Made to adorn
Flies
Before the start of their lives.
Colored silk patterned
Ahead of births
With hope merely suggesting
Yet seemingly
A predestination
Staining the lens
So only one view comes clear
Except on starry nights
When a glimpse of infinity
Implies possibilities
Beyond the tapestry.
V:
He sat at the bar. Served up the usual seven times he asked for an empty shot glass. Chewed his thumb until it bled. Leaking ink he fetched a fountain pen from a pocket he forgot his pants had. Filling the scribe's best friend, he set to tattooing blank sheets with reality's aspects the likes of which few ever knew. How the sun is really green; the motion of planets outside Newtonian logic; microscopic galaxies drifting between their oversized cousins; the means to draw all the clouds from a gas giant. The paper completed he did like every weekend, soaked the pages in liquor, and set them on fire. No sense in sharing what no one's ready for, despite how it might prepare them for more -- an appetizer discarded.
VI:
Falling Through the Night
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