hwithumalut

Anti-Diluvian

The future’s whim comes before my foggy retina’s shore. Gushing waters end our city sent by final divine scurry crashing down age old walls of grayed brick. I fear you may call my weary mind sick, But I plead, son, listen and prepare for coming days. Soon the ocean will escape from the rims of bays. Bring sheep! Go inland to cloud-grasping hills Salt shall soak streets and fill lungs, not fish gills. Do not stay with your fortunes here. Gold is worthless drowned down there! I can’t walk, of dying age You can escape this sunk cage

Sorcerer summons the Giant

Wake slumbering giant hear my will’s arcane command Toward a soldier-sea

Defy your sessile nature And walk home again

You are star-blooded. Chosen for unstopping wrath And unquenched hunger

You armed in brine-wrought garb Were shaped by god for me

hunting drowning men Is no place for such a titan You will lead dragons

Accident Poem 2

Hobo walking down the train rail One was coming carrying mail The broadest daylight glared out all the eyes Few clouds drifted under blue Texas skies The long walk from Houston was tiring the old soul The metal husk came up from over a dusty knoll It could not stop, inertia was the judge Shortest sentence given, he didn’t budge Ears long gone, half-deaf from old age Unmoving in hit body’s cage

Misunderstood genius who appreciates fine music. #NotSatireJustRealism.

I am walking and thinking across the pavement heated by the late day’s sun The frogs hum out their sex songs to the night’s slice of the pie moon’s shine The amphibian orchestra has a repeating rhythm, broken by the ginormous sky-gonging of a gun My aimless aesthetic attention shattered by the shell’s release makes me stop sensing the sublime A panic soon consumes the last of my carelessness, and complex cowardly paranoid mind-contortion commences What if? Who is? Why did the wild clamor clang off into the spring skies with such wonderful weather My bare feet are a mistake because bare toes tamper with returning to my house hiding behind fences Impact on an intrusive nail instigates instant impaling injury against me. I call my daughter Heather. “I am sitting at 19 Nimberland avenue with a nail in my foot. There is a gungho gunman out to get me.” She does not understand that many miserable men want to murder me I rip out the nail, but the blood bursts out in thick thimbleful streams. Then I see The sedan rolls up. She’s here and screaming at my earlier shoeless glee. She is maybe with the gunman.

Ripped up shirt on foot. Bad car ride. Hospital. Infection. Antibiotics. A whole day. Gunman escaped. Heather, my daughter, says I can’t walk anymore to hear the frogs. I just sit and work on my theory. Window open, for escape and song.