I listen to weird stuff;
Stuff that kids who do drugs like.
Angular beats and melodies,
With lyrics that flow
Like prose, hardly repeating.
Synthesized sounds, mathematically
Mapped, and tweaked to a timbre.

We're not after mass appeal,
Escape is what we seek;
To: a new world based
In music, with its own
Systems set
For analysis
Although few, we appreciate
New additions to our cult.

Red sparrow
Soaring
On a sound wave
Through the snow.

Velocity achieved, the
Bird begins to cork-
Screw.

Tones ululate to
The rhythm
Of the wingspan
Fan-blades.

Rising
And
Falling,
The bird's song
Arpeggiates.

Hear!
Here it comes.
Listen as it goes,
In nature's avian
Orchestra hall.

Water drops drip, thud! in a bucket positioned to collect under  a crack caused by ice formed on the rooftop. It's a stark reminder, shelling the delusion that the shelters, which we've built to protect from the elements, are permanent. Eventually everything disappears, unrecognizable, subjected to  the past of our future. What we can do now is hold on tight. Grasp everything that comes our way, and never let go. Hold the moment tender. Remember what is enjoyed, as well as what you did not. Resistance to our hold should be acknowledged. Turn you head, shielding your gaze from your reluctant actions.

Snail Mail Blues

I loved you before I knew you.
Reading the words you have written.
Tickled by verse, my want grew.
Covert, I'm well-hidden, smitten.

Too many letters cast aside.
Billet-doux, never delivered;
Sealing a note, narrowed my hide.
Not able to breathe, I quivered.

Postage, always due, never paid.
The carrier has gone postal.
Distance too far, apart we've laid.
My messages too close to stall.

Now, with a telegraph, I cast
Into the atmosphere, so vast.

My, oh my myopia
In my natal state,
My scope strained
To differentiate
Colours and shapes

As I grew up
In my household confines,
The television pane
Presented my window to the world.
Conceptualized by cliche
I was in a masturbatory bliss
Before I knew of such a thing.
Stimulated visually
By the appliance that babysat me.

Shapes defined as letters,
Symbols, and words;
The pages of a book
Came to frame
My outlook.
A sordid affair took place
Under my sheets, sneaking
Moments with the texts,
That I kept pressed
against my chest,
And graciously
I received.
Ideas inseminated
My feral young mind.

My first, true
Love, cast aside
For flashing lights,
Instantaneous results,
And a plethora of
Other vices.
Draining my sight,
In my addiction.
I realized I want
Something more.

It's amazing,
The difference
Two pieces of glass
Can make.
It can:
Refocus my world,
Show me to lost loves,
Allow my eyes to see
Everything blissfully.

We throw what holds our feet into air
Knotted together
Aiming to never grip the ground again
Strings crossed with our tongues tied
Wired souls strung up in the sky
Showing where the good stuff is

Fourteeners: Howl, Honey, Howl

There's no way I could forsake the hair that grows on my face.
In weather like this I hold nature, firm in my embrace.
Always, I tend to get tangled in all that is wild.
Serious fervor overtakes me, beauty beguiled.

Beckoned by her warmth she lures me into a state of dream.
Nightmares imminently arise; her cold, not shown, now seen.
Bursts of cold air quickly forgotten with a cool smile.
Sun-soaked cheeks reveal starry teeth, with a moon-fueled style.

Night and day differences to which, you cannot set a clock.
Such polarity, such dedication, observers mock.
Always in the present, jovial, our life is a gas.
Not looking forward or back, never heeding what has passed.

It is our nature, eternally, it is our being.
Bittersweet it tastes, complacent dumb love, there's no fleeing.