Mixed Ancient Metaphors

The words taste like music

from worlds long ago

Each letter resavored

in harmonies old

 

Coming to harvest

their sweetness imbues

A cave for an orchard

in wall painted hues

 

Old symbols retilling

those questions inside

Reborn when discovered

then never to hide

 

The silos refilling

new birthrights to seed

Replanted within us

—a symphony freed

 

(The New Room: January, 2023)

Scapular Burning

What are we but relics

of time gone by

 

Where painful encounters

stay undenied

 

The wounds may scar over

but never heal

 

As memory is martyred

its blood congealed

 

New skin tries to cover

what sutures can’t hide

 

Each moment recovered

a falsehood decried

 

With strength built on pillars

of fortunes disdain

 

From deep in the shadows

—our essence remains

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2023)

The Final Lie

Numbers have a lasting smell

while figures have a taste

Shapes can make an ancient sound

whose feelings stay untraced     

 

Intuition grants a wish

to those who rebegin 

Dimension in the blackest hole

new dwarf stars from within

 

Counting up or counting down

deception stays the same

What you gain or what you lose

redundant in the game

 

Endings come and endings go

ephemerally despised

Until the sacrificial lamb

—bleats out the final lie

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2023)

 

 

 

 

Motion Transformed

Memory has substance

for those athirst

a book never finished

whose pages reverse

 

Minute by minute

the moments burn

Igniting our history

whose ashes return

 

Memory’s sensation

beyond the five

Assuring our consciousness

we’re still alive

 

Formed in a vacuum

of fire and light

Stealing us inward

past seasons respite

 

Memory delivers

what stimulus feigns

A cloud in the desert

showering rain

 

Wrapping us tightly

in motion transformed

Buried within us

—keeping us warm

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2023)