mercy
Broken man, your fists, two blue sphinx
curled atop a frayed wool blanket
guarding what wastes beneath.
And still, that ruthless countenance
remembered from childhood…
your brute face
eyeing me...
dreamed tao of bees
raptured in bees
that do not sting
flying within their kinetic drone
circumference of apian light
I am nectar in each leg pouch
adorned with bees
that croon green ascension
floating...
conception of surrender
see how softly he whimpers now
as the needle that fills him
with kisses, weeps
a concoction of sincerity
cut with compromise
tarnished silver
teaspoon of grief
erasing every meaning
whispering in...
The Number of Our Days
Your flesh was a glass chorus
of cruel sirens
who with every touch
chafed the ribbons of my fingers raw.
In your blue eyes
I notched with a yellow...
on ice
it’s difficult to know exactly
how many of them are gone
but the percentage is high
not the one’s who’ve lost their way
the fallen down, mis-directed
temporarily out...
promise
swirling banner
wind whipped
color coded
a field of stars
a row of stripes
remembering when
freedom
found a country
to plant its perfect flag upon
made a promise
we pledge with our hearts
to...
Because the moon
Because the moon
has no place to rest
she drifts in endless circles
constantly shedding
the memory of herself
to forge through darkness
brave night’s silence
endure the stars.
Confederate X
piss stains on the wizard sheet
pulled from last night’s bed
southern clown
klansman gown
fearful eyes beneath a cutout pillowcase
boo inside a bigot’s head
black Bible talk behind...
the light whose darkness is light
sweltering August afternoon
Rene Lazare
bare foot, bare chested
in a leather smock
tied over ragged jeans
feverishly manipulates pigments
bent over an old barn’s floor
mixing tube squeezed oils
pressing and...
The revolutionist
hunted down
they found him in an open field
riddled with scraps of poetry
half thought out verse
set in awkward measure
broken mouth
dammed with thwarted doves
fingers crushed
stained with...
from innocence
oh memory
childhood illusion
behind what synapse
the aroma of smoldering autumn fire
suburban side roads
softly gauzed in smoky light
children’s saturday voices
rising from yards
family raked
weekend chored to
the status...
echo
sleepless night
toss and turn
remembering when
relived again
amended to no avail
up-ended
brought forth into that darkness
promising clarity
absolute darkness entreats
silence traps…
your beating heart
resurrects
over and over
refuses
end.
***
BITTER POEMS: echo
BY NEIL...
