The Heart of the Matter

Green and red are the colors of bleeding frog.

Lost in the waters,

Her brush is a lantern.

The thought of gods and she returns for a moment,

How to best create a favored soul.

The colors bleed together like we bleed together,

Two dark figures entwined in the night.

The moon led me to her,

As she layers her colors.

"The heart of the matter,"

Is what she mumbles,

Gone again in the setting sun.

The painting is a book,

And she is the subject matter,

Clearly labeled by the library of congress.

We kiss and I finger through her pages,

She is the heart of the matter.

Night Wanderers

It is always night somewhere.

The evening hours creep across the sky

Until another crooked dawn cuts through the blue-grey light.

Are there people like me in every night?

Tinkerers and time keepers,

Dreamers grasping for words to share,

Hands stained with ink,

Thoughts choked and running together like mascara in the rain.

I have imagined their faces.

A brooding young man who sits in the park,

Hair hanging over his eyes.

An old woman who stares out the window every day at one o'clock.

A child who lives in dreams.

These are the people who walk in the night.

----

I saw Edgar Oliver read from two poems the other night, and I was lucky enough to talk to him afterwards. This poem is inspired by some of the feelings I had while listening to his reading, as well as something I spoke to him briefly about.

New Celebrities and Persons of Note

Johan Vermici - Fashion Designer

Trixie Milan - Model

Gordie Rhineheart - Singer/Songwriter

Tina LeRoix - Actress

Mark Verner - Economist

Helen Murges - Physicist

Anthony Perez - News Anchor

Leia Lee - Journalist

Jesse Reynolds - Self-help specialist

Lindsey Anders - Lawyer

Jean Cousteaux - CEO

---

I would like it if people posted some information about who they think these people are. If you know anyone who has the same name and job, I would recommend against posting about them as these are made up people who I will declare things about as time passes.

Polar Chef

Collecting beets in the German forests,

I go digging for root vegetables.

The soil here is soft and fresh.

I am ready to prepare meat and potatoes,

And cook borscht with Ramsay.

My life is simple and good.

I visit the desert,

Collect sweaters and trinkets,

Measure my wealth in photos of rainbows.

----

I was looking at this website.

Drinking lemon juice,

Hanging on my sofa,

Worrying about the electric bill.

Writing letters,

Watching TV.

Counting the moon beams

That pour in my window,

Raindrops

A house of prayer sits in the rain.

She walks past with a sidelong glance.

If if turned to snow would anyone see it?

Not in this stillborn snow.

It came down in waves of grey,

The water as eternal as any god.

Holding close a black umbrella

She stares at the old stone road.

Miners and miners lay their bricks

And reap the earth,

Dwellers from another time.

When gods were fresh and smelled of earth

Rather than of blood and steel.

Or so she'd like to think

---

Wrote this while listening to Chopin's raindrops

The Box Has Wants

An enigma wrapped in whirring gears and locking fates,

A door that shines with blood and dread.

This is what lies in the heart of the desert.

Lock it away, tightly as the new bound hay,

Seal it where you'll never know.

And if you die before you wake,

The taught skinned night will come.

Run out to the cornfield,

Forget the box as best you can.

A child again amongst the grains,

You build with wood and steel,

Burying the thought deeper with every summer harvest.

Until it comes,

They come,

The figures from the gleaming city,

That lie beyond the sand.

Hunting, screaming,

Like primal men,

They cut down swaths and spare no men.

Now with your congregation,

You struggle in the fields,

Spitting, spewing, fighting against.

But flesh is frail, and the box has wants.

----

Spent tonight watching Children of the Corn and Hellraiser on Netflix. Here's what it got me.