Tag: Ink
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Forest
Forest Leafless trees and evergreens,weighted, gleaming white withboughs bowing groundward Small tracks, trails, and pathsthrough cold white mounds, betweenstraw textured tufts, around treesand in the hollowed lees Sparkling drips from boughs abovereflect the strengthening sun, magnifiesthe fragrance of melt and thawing ground Puddles gather in low places,melt flows on the surface and below,refreshes and quenches…
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Jethro Tull
Jethro Tull snorts and humming flute spits fire-laden ice waterlight-show dappled stage Dickens era clothesexpecting sackbut and lutebohemian rock post-show exit blueslocomotive breath – enragedaftermath come-down overflowed parkingtime-warped travel home – snot dripsfrom Aqualung’s nose –LE
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Stream of Consciousness
Stream of Consciousness Here, there, everywhere and nowhere – in my mind –and out, I’m thinking, dreaming, scheming – and learningto enrage everyone, perhaps even myself. I am not going to proceed with this because I’m not goingto deal in negatives – especially about myself.I leave that nitpicky shit to everyone else! I will –…
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What Do Incompetence Mean?
What Do Incompetence Mean? Imagination’s greater than knowledge,and – what do incompetence mean, andwhere is this touted imagination? Ultraviolet rage is glowing loud, andmediocrity is on a rampage. Originality is seldom seen; itmore often resembles hand-me-downjeans in a gray-Fifth-Avenue-wet-dream. Yet, my attempts at being genuineend in trite mediocrity – all mine. Fuck this and fuck…
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The Daily Resurrection Blues
The Daily Resurrection Blues Waiting for the resurrection,It happens every day at five.That’s the time we come alive.For now, we just improve production. I’ve got the waiting-for-The-daily-resurrection blues. Walking dead from nine till five,Push us hard – keep the profits high.We break production records daily. I’ve got the waiting-for-The-daily-resurrection blues. Mother Earth spinning through time,Writes…
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Crumbs
Crumbs In the silence of alonenessWatching me perform – dance and bowAnd feign a smile – thatHides the hole where purpose dwelt. In hidden depths I writheWith vestiges of love-passion memories, That solidify, shrink, and crack –Shattering me to crumbs onThe kitchen floor – in dream-death silenceComing to grips with love – rejected. –LE
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More Fall Haiku
Wet wind takes my hat;damp wool covers my goose-bumps —trees howl with laughter! Dead-leaf lined gutters,walking the cold concrete road —trees sigh, “hhhuuurrryy hhhommmmmme.” –LE
CynOp 