Pinned to the wall
like butterfly wings, the goddess’s
eyes are open.
Reduced to a cold trophy.
Her last thought,
was that she wished
to die by her own hand
at sea.
Her last thought
was of a vast ocean.
Inspired by Ohio’s Stay At Home Order
1. Citizens of Jubalaw
By Order of the Good King Splat,
the following activities are banned.
Picking your nose, dancing too close,
hula-hooping and hunting for ghosts,
pretending it’s shark week when it’s not,
playing with your brand new pet Ocelot,
lazily pacing while dressed like a clown,
also making fun of King Splat’s crown,
and jumping in place with mayonnaise
in your right pocket on Thursdays.
2. Stay at Home Jubalaw!
The Jubalaw information bureau, would like to remind all citizens
that Public gatherings of more than 1.3 persons, are prohibited until
further notice. If a citizen is found to engage in Clubs, clusters, bunches
clumps they will be subject to the penalties outlined below.
- Tickling with albino goose feathers for the first infraction
- Upon the second infraction the penalty will be social distance shaming via Facebook Live where the accused is made to eat a lemon while standing on one foot while playing air guitar
- Upon the third infraction the penalty will be death-just kidding! It will only be a fine which is fine.
- These fine fines will go to build a shrine to Emperor Splat, our good king here in Jubalaw.
- He needs all of the fine fines for a shiny suit that is great and grand and wonderful and stupendous and the best that anyone has ever seen…
- (if you take Emperor Splat’s word for it)
EDGAR CAYCE
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contemplate origins like wading where it's dark but not completely silent what does it sound like is it the hum of a grassy field of crickets in unison when you close your eyes do you see the key when it turns do you let it happen or do you shut out the memories deciding that you are not a repository and that memory should be finite you might say to yourself I'll come back to this place when I'm ready but you know you might never be ready only the strong can slipstream darting through past lives crashing like a wave besides other mental structures are fortified daily bricks taken out all painted a horrifying shade of beige so you run in circles to forget and become numb to the eyes to the reigning unconscious become as one without thought or rage or ambition become mollified let the illusion mimic those first sounds rabbit eared dominant frequency like a space opera warm in the loving embrace of our bug god overlords
The People of The Rock
the smooth
solid
rock
physical form of
the law
the people of the rock
worship
perfection
the universe was willed into existence
the universe was willed into existence
from the nothing
the black
emerged a breath
a sigh
a flash of light
a terrible crash
like the earth being torn in two
the lotus on the
still black water
Many Worlds
born of the mountain
brought to the river
swallowed by nothing
eyes peer out
over a starless sky
Colorblind
hidden behind the mists of time
yellow hats on satin pillows
dole out a peculiar form of justice
more concerned with balance
than what is right
and what is wrong
Origin
salt stained bones of pilgrims
who thought the end was the beginning
oh holy mountain
oh sacred river
oh primal cave
Ashen Ruin
The old man weeps
but even his tears
wont restore
what the flames destroyed
bending time
crisp air stings my lungs and I know
its fall again in Ohio stubborn leaves cling to
ground the green washed away replaced
by brown and gold brittle memories snow
in the forecast for Halloween another
year another decade and I’m stuck like
I was at the turn of the last decade I thought
time changed iron bars to silk strings like
motion reflected in pools of water collecting
in a rain storm wind blowing changing
leaves green topcoat with red vestments like
the universal soul marching into a new sun
building eco-systems of the future, today!
cities of tomorrow where it’s your own little commune a simulation of a small town
feel because it’s been built that way to have restaurants micro-breweries dog parks
human parks movie theaters barbershops and salons comedy clubs
(but remember this
multi-national corporations laid stakes into public land
to expand stock prices of multi-national corporations (the shareholders included)
to employ workers for a pittance,
to clean the shiny new bank-financed surfaces
that somehow the tax payer is probably fitting the bill for
workers who will happily drive
throughout greater metropolitan areas
for a job with shitty hours and few benefits
nutrition is the invisible battleground
Crave-ability profiteers are just following orders
Orders that say bodies in lower income areas deserve poisoned
Water bodies in lower income areas deserve strip mall fast food that fattens
Pockets bodies that deserve to be poisoned by the easy food bodies that deserve
Poisoned air in Ohio sanitized streets provide toxic sludge
In Ohio who benefits from poisoned bodies
Oxidized
Leaving Kent Ohio Summer skunk blue sky divides asphalt
No evidence of existence of decay blottted out billboards rust
Asking me to come to Jesus
When sanitized stink is the order of the day razed and relocated
Cratered highway reminds me of home Ohio having the problems
Of post-industrial places
Location
(trick is
Expand the circle
(it shrinks location
value is principle built
(in practice
of ideas discarded
in open spaces in open piles in open patchwork
independent rags
of the marketplace (surplus
waning and waxing loyalties to humanity
I wonder if that is the point—get used to a lack of privacy get used to living in public
get used to living on a razor’s edge get used to extra shades of paranoia get used
bruised buried skeletons demand warm sunlight—stage to dance on audience to yawn
through their tears
blind demand sight two working eyes not content with sleight of hand tricks
been through this before—seen how the magicians unmasked visage rises in
pitch timbre quavering shake off
the fever get used to mantra—out of sight
of mind silent spring with no birdsong privilege takes center stage as fever rages
subsides as morning peeks through the shade and I roll over on my side with dollar signs
that wear my eyes
on cottage industries within cottage industries
Some art is so dense as to be unintelligible and I wonder
if that’s the point of the poisoned pen to speak in crude juxtapositions
That bring the dead to life and make them stand at attention
Poetry from Ohio 