Mad Poetry Tuesday

Imagine, if you may, the dream. The translucent, ever shifting Truth. First, a moon rises, In the magic of nightfall, then Drops with the weight of a silver coin Into your pocket. An automaton's pocket That sings a clinking song. Can you see "you" in this moment? Are you the Dream You, Who crossed leagues of velvet, Who stood cliffside and jumped, Who made it through the Mind Maze Just before winter, but had to repeat it in the snow months later? Are you the You of Infinity? Are you a thousand mirrors Glazed and reflecting In a thousand stories Your Brain Artist paints As your body lies there On the pull-out sofa, or in an IKEA bed, Or on the dirt floor. Being painted, Like verdigris over copper, Are you the makeup? No, depicted - are you The Waking or the Dream You? -- Mad Words List 9.18.18 Automaton Dream Verdigris Infinity Truth Moon Silver Magic Song You

In the vicissitudes of life, I had started to know The downturn from the sky-high. I watched it wax, Wondering if it would wane, or rain, or snow. Instead, it was just cold, like silence. But not the silence Of respect. Nor the silence like standing in a band room in 6th grade, Instruments still, while we heard about Terror on the television, and watched the towers fall. A tragedy, it was something close to that, but less Permanent. There was hope of rising from the grave After three days or a hundred, I’d wait for you To come around. But I wasn’t the symbol to your meaning, I was just the cymbal that brought noise to your busy Mental street. Clash, bang, just atmosphere humming. Notes on a page you barely read, maybe skimmed. Swipe, like, scroll -- just another “friend” making The Honor Roll. On my honor, do I solemnly swear, To care. To carry your memory like a wound, Unforgettable and deep, oh the colors you made beneath my skin. I wanted rainbows for days. But...

Across from the neon parlor Where the strangers in a strange land Bet their lives on pachinko, I searched the sky, for the sun and the moon. Not here, not anywhere. The machines buzzed, hummed. Poisoned, the eyes of the Earth Have closed and keep sleeping. Once the hub of empires, Of lilies, and olives, and respect, This glass we lean on will break. No more bets. We can say we knew better. We can say the weather felt a bit patchy. But we've tilled this soil And planted our seeds, and the harvest Will always be death. This ramshackled body, The gardeners know, has a place In the dirt. Your graftwork is to grow With the seeds until the stars swallow us all. Did I find them? Oh yes, her lids slid open And there was daylight. Closed, And there were the Leonids, shooting across. Did I say to grow? I meant to grow in love. Did I say to grow in love? I meant to love Like the lilies. I meant to, but the stars Swallowed us. I meant to make peace With olived branches. I meant to respect her....