And they Spoke of Tin and Bronze

Art by Brian Despain.

Oh sick beauty

you drive me toward nothing

you are so objective

I will never find your end.

guide me



-Art by Paul Roberts

Summer chanted to me in madness, a delirious language. “Our storm could never take you from here, from those moments.” Bitterly she moans sordid and ugly visions.

Free Verse Friday- Original from Versicolor

Clouds float above a country road

creating a shadow plane,

blinds to heaven.

I race to catch the sun again

never knowing if I will escape

from this dull grasp.

When I emerge

I see the next shadow looming.

My car door vibrates

with a verse stretched through its speaker,

Its beauty veiled by torn melodies

forced through wires and air.

It dies.

As I remember where I’m going

the shadow finds me again.

I press my bare foot to the gas

only knowing that if there are shadows

there must be light somewhere.

– Versicolor

Free Verse Friday – original from H.T.

[bone song]
Crashing thru the underbrush of society we ran,
Hissing haze on pursuit, swinging limbs thru and thru
The narrow signs, the slender eyes of our companions,
The ghost – the ghosts we are as we see, the silent
Mist of identities mixed and self-same saturated when we’re near
We mingle and one become, mélange mad and merry.

To echo off bones and palace grounds, lost world before us
Fog in chase, fog in lungs, and us in its heart
The tiger’s stripes are eyes behind every imagined corner
Every illusory turn! Sing I the damp cloth as mist sticks
To skin and to hair, fogging glass and metals
Thick transient traveling.

The hope is in the mind – not the heart
For the heart is faltered and poisoned
Toxin earthly has passion inflamed
And us by passion inflamed so trust
Not that softness! Trust the hardened
Ice and steel mind, the manmachine me

Crinklecrush the cardboard as hide in abandon
With reckless abandon, reckless Abaddon pursue
The fog is us, the fog is death, the beauty is truth
And silent deception the ugly truth always behind
Who else is silent? We are silent at dawns,
Dare we interrupt the song of the gods?

Sing we Olympus? Sing we the end of reason?
Sing the dust and falling trees
Falling tresses, sing, dusty beds and hazy rooms
Of Crete and Athens, sing lofty songs of lowness
Sing we the end of ourselves, the beginning of us
Sing the bones, white and clean.

-Hello, Tralfamadore