Spectacle of becoming

Situates the human vantage

To ditch its predatory instincts,

Linger along the gutted cubicles


shopping malls and


“it’s all changing.”

Insects channel the sensibilities

Concurrent to currency cycles

And generate populations.

Marching their brood



And concrete. Human

Footsteps impose eclipses

And they

Ignore the sole

Of a death sentence.


Soapbox functions by placing familiar insignia to hold court and blather about reactions.

Vocabulary reasoning adjusts value in compensation to rejected distractions.

All this to proceed in discussions relevant to tonal inflections.

Late in the evening

Refrigerator doors secure the cold

And perishable items are graded on their value

By the rate of consumption.

Cold becoming

Renders to the same dissection.

Sentience collects useful tidbits for self

Distributes them by piecemeal,

Responding to, limited as, wrinkles, Goose-pimples,

Hurtful words

And the idea that it’ll be over

In secret.

Choose to Win

A duck died, his body floated throughout the pond-water and on occasion collided with shoreline, but always returned back to drifting. When winter turned the water to ice, he was frozen from the neck down. At night, approaching headlights struck his dead eyes and they lit up like stars. During sunny days, his profile functioned like a sundial, adjusting direction clockwise as the hours waned. Spring approached and the ice fractured, the corpse dislodged and his head went below the water, with his belly exposed, he hovered for a few days, before sinking to the bottom forever.

A Saturday morning cartoon featured a plot where the main character was placed in a straitjacket. She drove a car arm-less and flipped the pages of a book with her nose, but her most impressive feat was when she held a match in her teeth and used the sidewalk to ignite it, touched the flame to a stick of dynamite’s wick, placed it underneath the antagonist’s bottom and blew him to smithereens. She was still in the straitjacket as the credits rolled. It was understood that by the next episode she would be free.

Pantomime’s Meditation

Pill bottle placed before Biblical notations,

Cover agape, straddled the shelf for squints

To fish-eye, pilfer and register artifacts of verse, which

Insisted the tambourine player remove her instrument,

“assemble the tempo

Rattlesnakes attribute

To approaching danger.” Door lock clicked,

Pantomime leaned against the frame and lathered his deadbolt

In oil. He became fixated on the motion of returning

To keep oneself in,

Wiped the excess oil away,

Stared at the function

Of knowing what to do

And when it would end.

Constellations recognized in nomenclature to historical omnipotence, failed to distinguish the shimmer casted off their bones and the tambourine bleating in council, to tides adhering the moon’s directions, reflecting glowing craters along the musical shadow gaps.

Pantomime placed a noise at his fingertips, thrummed pitch changes in rhythm to retinas, convinced they were fixated on reality’s picture. A flinch

In balance shifted the weight of focus,

Adhered it to traffic rolling over roadkill.

“Wait a minute…” Pantomime said. “That’s where the rattlesnake went.”

Natural Franchise

Franchises are a natural pattern found in nature they embrace the structure of the family motif by complimenting double-helix hierarchy via multiplying carbon copies

Natural selection situates the dominant features

Of these carbon copies

And applies them for use as needed

A feather for a Nose

A nose for an Eyelid

An eyelid for a Tongue

A tongue for Genitalia

Genitalia for Cubicles

Cubicles for Shoulder-pads

Shoulder-pads for Swiveling chairs

Swiveling chairs for Business cards

CEO demands the business goes public and buying-in quadruples the opportunity for procreation


Sunlight motioned the reveal of a magenta cross stitch bordering the kneecap flexing human pink underneath it all

Pivoting toward the chest overstuffed with towels failed in their objective to outlast the competition paper advertised as durable versus the elements

Kneecap consumes the skeleton bulge in layers of wrinkles and steals the form of kneeling parishioners

Oak tree consumed in white snow competes against the roots of an underground sprinkler system for space to demonstrate the function of having nowhere to be and worshipping this declaration by remaining there and setting the above natural shadow realm of naked branches fastening dark contortions to highlight where its opposition used to remain

Flesh lug overlaps the baby-blue bedspread and flattens the weak crevices contouring the mattress up and down left to right

Owl perches herself on the naked oak branch and rotates her neck to scan snowcapped suburbia for prey

Kneecap has no reason to understand the difference of kneeling for faith or kneeling for procreation

Owl eats a rat

The 1st Mistake of the Paper Trail



The night Beethoven detailed his loud affections for expiration in the Heiligenstadt Testament he dropped his pen and heard nothing. He stood at the apex of equal footing, lifted his nose to the impending eve and descended behind the notion of Napoleon slaughtering muddy waters to build a dry bed for orchestral fingers to flex arthritis, lift their own pens, signing paychecks for those who dug behind couch cushions and perfumed fingertips in the copper scented smells of economic recovery.


Clay tablets documented

Monetary efforts to describe a price

For the human condition.

Cardboard frames encapsulated

Jealous paper trails. Withheld

Funds in an effort to balance

The budget.

Honest laborers left their earnings in a pile,

Doused the contents in gasoline

Set fire to what they’d done.

Growing Old and Age and Entropy

Keys left in the lock, location named after its occupant, to expose identity. 3D smelled of wood chips, inscribed on 2D’s door were the words Bridges for Trolls. Keys jangled like a rusted bell as the door opened and revealed the sigh of relief. Losing the mechanism used to unlock self, moments to make the person. Key removal sequestered ambivalence in relation to wiping dust from the book shelf, disgust enacted toward human remnants. Tooth missing encouraged the repeated tongue jab to fill 3D’s grin, growing empty and entropy and age.

Hands sanitized.

Rubber gloves on and cleaning crust from closed eyes.

Nostrils flared absorbing flour sprinkles casted off the unbaked cookies.

Radiator WHISTLING and expelling the history of old pipes



And age

And growing empty.

First Snowfall (it won’t happen again)

Human trappings

Outweigh organic life. This notion accepts

All that is



Is here now. Basic snow


 Hands to let go,



Snow covers those remnants too.

Complimenting cycles

To induce



Park patrons prepare their minds

To reduce virginal white,

Putrefying pine

Honoring the connection.

Observance. Fastened.

Per snowfall.


From head to toe.

From feet to nose.

Wipe away


Set it on the mitten.

Set it in the sky.

Wait for



That Must Be


Cartoon pageantry issues thought bubbles, captioning the forethought

Of blank stare senders, censoring make believe per banal understandings.


Providing new fashionable rebellion; Davies shoplifts three shades of blush. She takes them to her library’s public restroom, dips a sponge in the green makeup and inscribes her confession of theft onto the mirror. Davies begins exiting the bathroom, while leaving, holds the door open for the library’s security guard, who’s entering after her. She sees Davies’ confession and wishes she had the courage to do the same.

Exposing found ingenuity; Papa Deuces levels himself on hands and knees, lowers his head to peer underneath his couch. He grabs his cellphone, activates its flashlight app and uses the gleam to expire the cover of darkness. Stationed where the couch meets the wall reflects a sliver of silver. He reaches for it, but discovers a strand of floss. He shrugs, uses it to dislodge a popcorn kernel that had been stuck between his back molars for weeks.


Pistol’s handle

Warm like a womb.

Bullet is waiting for birth.

Bullet’s name given upon contact.

Aluminum disguised as origami figures.

Wings of paper cranes screech and shower

Flakes of rust. Flakes of Americana.

Clean-cut yesterdays

Wink at their televisions

And play out the schizophrenic technique



…forgot to close the door

“Don’t make this fake, Last second of life”-Sparta

Goons are sacrificed, due diligence to spaces exposing bleed letting,

Mirrors stationed as substitutes for ceiling tiles, documentation held to its occurrence, (the Devil is in the details).


Proposal suggests

Age defined by the length a person travels.

Stay-put civilians would grope the inches at 200 years, striving for suicide, to make it a little bit further.

Globe trotters accomplish a quick death, but witness Babylon’s flowers, competing for headspace against the cross-eyed observers, researching which colors compliment solitude.

Vacation proposes a known final sunset.

What would such sentiments bring?

Language follows the trends made by human experience.

Learning only by footsteps taken to the kitchen, bathroom and back to bed.

Lethargic doers would speak of well-traveled martyrs,

Citing their toe blisters as testaments of benevolent intervention.

Exiting the plane, examining the list of must see, rot sets and cataracts drapes a white lens,

Hustling to make the final seconds meaningful.

At the fountain, pocket length ideas, tossing the heads of leaders, no expression

Besides the one given to them and they sparkle underneath the sun, outside of their Coffin.