Loki’s Stove

Honey-tongued Loki,
Dark-feather father of
Deceit, mischief and evasion
Has been stokin’ his summer,
Drum –sin, tense-skin stove.
Dry, death-beckon dust,
Recalls the terrible, gong-ring thunder
Of the last Ragnorak
That saddest of conflicts:
Bloody faith turning in
On its own convictions:
Tearing believers to gibbering shells.
High, hold-heaven skies
Understand the difference between
Axeman, innocent and chorister;
Know that shelter is promised to none
And that survival is no guarantee of sanity.

12/7/2013

Away From Suitcase Words

Taking my dilemma-seat on the red-eye express –
Please let it be a save-soul flight
Hoping to be carried away from
Cheap hotel rooms and suitcase words
Towards a different kind of trigger light.

Brown sugar call, insistent demand,
Throbbing troll-drum loud
In my outlaw head.

Need the savage high-born,
Black panther lady in my bed.
If more-than-yellow survival
And deep desert-gold redemption
Are the witch’s corkscrew goals
Conquest, consummation and satisfaction
Are fantasy’s waypoints and evolution’s tolls.

6/1/2012

Heron

I am heron,

Last of the lonely fisherfolk clan,

Wrestling breath and existence

At December-Edge Lake.

Needs must when

Winter-king rules;

So I will take

Frogs from frozen mud,

Cold-killed cadaver from bog ditch graves,

Maggots from fieldside muck-heap

And warmth from memory cells –

And shun your hypocrite charity.

My hopes and words I store

Between stare-down-the-Devil eyes,

Behind decision sharp weapon bill

Beneath my fog-toned feather cape.

They are mine, not yours,

Seek them not.

I seek no camouflage for

Past, ruthless savagery –

That stranded me here –

Fossil in all but fact –

Pale target for avaricious

Cowardly mobs of

Bright-urchin gulls.

Denying the truth

Destroys the soul

As sure as sin

And damages any future

I may hope to have.

heron2