Morning-Night

Morning-Night

I was born in the morning-night.

The last addition

to a family of four.

My brother overcast

all of my accomplishments.

I gave up

too many times to count.

So I swam.

I’m still not great,

but if the opportunity rises

I think I can beat him.

My parents worked,

My brother left.

I was alone,

in the family home.

It was my favorite time.

The morning-night.

It still is,

but I rarely see it.

I have lost friends,

too many to count,

but I get new ones.

Closer ones

I don't know how,

It just happens.

But thats okay.

I have never

done anything

worth noting.

I hold records.

One for swimming

I was on a relay,

with three fast kids,

when I was twelve.

Another for pac-man,

at my friends house.

I was the first to play.

I like being afraid.

I like being afraid,

it is one emotion

that can't be faked.

I give the impression,

that I am someone else.

I don’t mean to though.

Few people know that.

maybe no one does.

I like to sleep.

Dreams can be fun,

or frightening.

But they are still enjoyable.

I have been to Oregon

three times.

Once, I met

the vice president.

The secret service

gave me a pin.

I have many desires.

I doubt I will act,

make an effort,

achieve them.

Somethings I know,

some things I don’t.

I want a nice room.

With a large window.

Looking over a snowy field.

With trees at the sides.

I want it to be morning-night.

Janus

Janus

Wow, so much darkness

God, we’re really in trouble this time

“Hey, where are you? Come to my voice.”

“We’ve got to get out of here now!

These aren’t made for people!

Can you breathe? I can’t breathe!”

“Pull it together, We aren’t going to die here,

Just calm down and count to ten.”

clang

Clang Clang

CLANG CLANG CLANG

Clang Clang

clang

“HELP US!”

“Hey, quiet! Just relax. we need to find a way out of here”

The only way out, that door, is locked tight

they are coming for us.

Why is he breathing so fast? Is he crying?

Great, he will be useful.

“Thi... This is all your fault

I never wanted a-any of this.”

Maybe I can calm him down if I touch him...

“Get your hands off of me!”

“Calm down man! This is going to work out fine,                                “We’re going to die! This is

I’m sure there is an air vent or something!”                                         Your fault! Stay away!”

Ok, he’s not going to be useful, there has to be

an air vent or something, right? I can't be the

only one this has happened to.

My eyes are adjusting, look at him.

Standing there.

Who needs him? What has he done for me?

Except this.

Looking smug over there.

He knows a way out.

He thinks I will just let this happen to me,

but he knows the way out.

“Shh... do you hear that?

It sounds like air,

I think its over here in the corner!”

I can't follow him.

Its another trap

He is going to kill me

in the corner.

We’re robbers, not killers!

…

But the kits the same.

I think thats a duct! We can get out of here!

I just need to get that coward to help me.

“Come over here! Hurry I think I hear people outside!

Give me a boost up here, let me see if its a way out!

“You are just going to leave me here.

I know what you have planned.

I read “A Cask of Amontillado.”

“What? Look, we need to leave now!

Someone is in front of the door, they will find us soon!

Now hurry!”

“I know you want to kill me,

did you ever think this through?

I’m smarter than you think.

I don’t want to, but you would have.”

“What are you talking about? Calm down!

keep quiet so they don't-

BANG!

“Help us! We’re in here!”

Oh thank God! The vault is opening!                                       Oh thank God! The vault is opening!

“Put your hands above your heads!”

Is he saying something?                                                                                     What's happening?

Why aren't they helping me?                       “Do it now!”                                            What did I do?

“I CAN'T HEAR YOU!
HELP ME!”

What's that smell? Oh God that hurts!                                                     Why can’t I see anything?

I can't see anything!

“Get on the ground now!”

Toro

Toro

Through smoke blinded eyes

the Torero launches

a savage fusillade of blows.

Neatly pulverizing

the winter’s guardian.

He has been immortalized,

beneath the banners and braying,

shrouding the entrenched truths,

that he is only an Italian,

who holds the mental liberty

to know that the fast money,

his bread and butter,

are nothing compared to

the underestimated life,

which held no hope

for exoneration.

His woes muted

by the people’s self-cannibalism

and ineligible screams.

“He was too brave!

Too brave to spend a precious bullet

on that charging monster!”

Giving himself approval for demolition

of his processional grandeur,

with a robust exchange he stands,

“This fighter’s taking a break.”

The zombie president a mere citizen,

moving on to hiatus.

Reporters remember him

as a pulpy dream.

The citizenry

full of themselves,

their hubristic nature

creating an impeccable wall,

guarding them from nirvana.

Leaving only the Torero,

to break on through

to the other side.

Villanelle for a Hero

Villanelle for a Hero

Watched by a bleary spectre

Warmly greeting, laying an airy hope

Bane of most powerful Hector

A prince to earn no scepter

Fooled by a cunning myope

Watched by a bleary spectre

Great trust in a wicked defector

to a dreaded nothingness, He did grope

Bane of most powerful Hector

And so he tasted the bitter flavor of lifes crimson nectar

as he fell to his knees, he did mope

watched by a bleary spectre

The scent of the sea, his final pleasure

He slipped down the deadly slope

Bane of most powerful Hector

The final moment of this grand adventure

His last feeling, that of rope

Watched by a bleary specter

Bane of most powerful Hector

Icarian Flight

Icarian Flight

Workers work,

earning survival.

Hardly noticing,

nor caring

for Rush.

Tedious people.

Calm. Efficient

Quietly judging

His ascent

His wonder

His Fall

Remaining fastidious.

Never straying

from duty.

Never glancing

at beauty.

Never grasping

for freedom.

Only working

for subsistence.

Little value

for life,

for smiles.

Little value

for curiosity,

for venture.

The life

for them.

The Plowman.

The Shepherd.

Not Icarus.

Simplistic

Simplistic

Part 1

An immense slope

more a wall than anything else

braces itself against mountains

and people watch

staring like trees

in unison

unwavering

words accepted, not contested

the people stand in rank and file

contemplating life

and their dreams

concerned, are they too slight?

or perhaps too lofty?

doomed to lose themselves

seeing everything as the same

to see others as workers

possessions as tools

to lose the simple beauty

of a crack or a cliff

Part 2

a small crack

more a blade than anything else

the weak point, holding the weight

and no one cares to notice

moving past it, a stream of water

in unison

yielding

words contested not accepted

the rabble of people flow

dwelling on frivolities

and mistakes

dreading, will they fail?

or grow out of proportion

fated to doom their creator

nothing remains similar

others have freedom

tools as possessions

having lost the simple beauty

of a corner, or a cliff