Unholy Imaginings

Keflavik at Dawn, Post Dissolution

i once read
crossing an ocean
divests you from
any source of
heartache
that remains
on the far shore

south of
the airport
a modern
aluminum
footbridge
spans two
continents

both sides
are sulfuric
lava-rock
wastelands

i step across the metal planks
hovering above the black scar
of diverging tectonic plates

giddy, shaky
sleep-deprived
i do not know what
i expect to find
on the other end

i once read
that the universe
and all its energy
are an eternal loop:

growth
equlibrium
decline
dissolution
growth

i am part of it all
in old leather boots
gazing down
from a bridge
into nothing

Ölfusá River

in raw, glacial streams
nature rinses her paint brush
lead-gray water swirls

The Skeptical Flock

all animals judge!
people who think otherwise
are delusional

This is a poetic self portrait of my soul just before a long journey.

The photo portrait is me in my favorite room of my new house. The dramatic morning sunlight reflects off of my car window and into my sleazy 1970s den.

The words and image both tell the same story: stay weird and get the hell out of your comfort zone.

Iceland, I’ll see you soon.

I will write more when I get back!

Much love to you, as always.

iceland

land of ice
and fermented
shark meat

shatter
my skewed
perceptions

fill my mind
with words
not yet invented

free my heart
to blaze against
the magnetosphere

scatter these dreams
in lands of green
and glacier

we explore a disused cemetery
off an old dirt road
in the middle of the forest

four graves are
clearly outlined
by protruding burial mounds
several others sink down
into rectangular pits of decay

slanted crosses slice
into granite headstones

you step back
to line up a shot
and your heel
makes a hollow
wooden THUNK
you tap again
and arch your eyebrow
– a casket
thinly shrouded
by soil

i step swiftly
over several MCMAHONS
to more solid ground
while you snap a photo

a moth
unsteadily
flutters
against cold
raindrops
and i shiver

not from fear of
falling into old graves
but in reverence
of death’s
advancing
tread

a wildflower-lined path
leads to a dark forest
specked with sandstone remnants
of crumbling mountains

all senses are muffled
beneath dense pines

mushrooms, moss, and needles
cover the loamy floor

fiddle-leaved fern fronds
ache towards muted sunlight

i used to
climb these rocks
and pretend they were battleships
wrap myself
in the lonely folds of the hills
blunt my pain
against the geologic scale of time

i can still show you
where black salamanders
and neon-orange newts hide
where spring starts last
and winter dies the slowest

i can show you a heaven
that soothes an ancient soul
if you know where to look
if i wish to be seen
if i choose for you to find me

i had three two-step partners:
a shy man who fled
a salsa dancer who salsa’d
and a tall cowboy

the cowboy and i talked a long while
about marrying too young
dostoevsky and st. petersburg
and why the texas sky
seems bigger than ohio’s

and oh how we danced!

fast fast
s l o w s l o w

we twirled
in the glitter
of forced intimacy
known only in honky-tonks

he asked to come back to my hotel
for just one night
so he could read “white nights”
and make me waffles

don’t take it too bad,
i just came to dance
but i like a man who
gracefully accepts rejection

fast fast
s l o w s l o w

labrador retriever at 3:23 AM

the dog whines to go outside
i walk slow from my bedroom
down the steep steps
and he clumsily follows

“don’t knock me down
the goddamn stairs!”
i stage whisper
– he snorts

we emerge
into crisp Cleveland
he relieves himself
on the hydrangea bush

amber streetlights
illuminate the leaves
splaying patterns
across my pale limbs

cool air carries
close scents:
hot piss
a distant skunk

he smells the wind
and comes back inside
to drink water like a moose

my mind seeks
the gentle tones
of human voices
rustling in the treetops

i whisper back
to the breeze
“Stan’s a good boy”
and pet his velvet ears

he is already asleep
unfathomably peaceful
a cozy, rounded-corner
of blackness

the flamingo

redwood mists
hauntingly drift
about the rigging
of a rusted ship
with the scrappy stance
of a 1930s boxer

they say she was found
after a storm
no crew aboard
engine running
steady on
against the waves

down at the docks
she is still ill used
and nobody calls her pretty

FLAMINGO blazes red
across her black stern
and none among the living
can claim her

Life is good and I am thankful to be here on this planet at the same time as all of you other weirdos.

This is a poem sparked by a discussion about Bob Dylan’s songs.  They remind me of horoscopes because they are both vague and profound enough that people can derive whatever meaning they wish.

Enjoy!

keratin

backlit by the august sun
your dark strands of hair
slide against my fingertips

holding hands on the shoreline
watching the waves swell
talking some sense and bullshit

true love knows no gradients
it wants absolutes
commands us to trust fate

our ancestors’ every step
led me straight to you
but life is arbitrary

(05-SEP-2015 – Perry, Ohio)

canada

heading to the pass
the larch trees
turned turmeric yellow.

I missed my best friend,
I longed to return to him,
but didn’t want to leave
the paradise
as the snow softly fell
with slats of eyes –
gone in a flash.

i missed that mountain every day
yet, I never knew it until that walk
for three decades I knew nothing
it doesn’t matter now.
i belonged there once
i belong there still.

i saw the trees turn yellow
i saw the fisher’s glare
the snowstorms never bothered me
like the thought of leaving there

i missed my friend in absence
i miss that country now
if I could have both my loves
could someone tell me how?

(Berg Lake Trail, Canada – 13-SEP-2017.  The first leg of a 25 mile day hike)

suburban coyote

i wasn’t built to be a loner
a solitary, purposeful breed
flashing bright in the pupils

some people are naturals
lithe coyotes
sneaking under fences
in the hot morning sun

some lie to themselves
until they are alone
shifting, slowly sifting
feigning unconcern

some are too shy
struggling against isolation
a soft, mired tangling
in the sheets of inadequacy

📷 Photo By Louis Haas – Check out his stuff @ https://louishaas.photography/