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)