Fogging by Tyler Wood

 

the fog banks flowed over the mausoleums

     in the night

changing the engravings to suit the       modern world

they speak in endless graveyard shifts

 

    the sky rains funnel clouds like mothers tears

and all I can hear are fog horns from white marble steps

 

sirens with human faces heat blood 

in vats of patriotism and other ideological mis-

representations of humanity

 

you think your life is a christmas tree

but your hanging all your ornaments on the same branch

 

your looks won’t hold forever

 

your teeth may look like pearls but they cut like diamonds

 

there’s an open mic on a dimly lit stage speaking truth

while the lights focus on dry tongues regurgitating 

hopeless metaphors on the news

ripping at promises like 

            wet paper towels

 

the fingertips keep reaching

but there’s not enough friction for movement

 

your morality casts a shadow like the mid-day sun

it’s hot and narrowly focused

at one time you nearly broke this

     the backs were heavy

 

the fog remains pervasive

 

zip up your pants 

your scandals are showing

 

you can claim its luck 

but its easy to get the larger side of the wishbone when you control 

both sides

 

linguistic battlement facade is all you hide behind

  spitting burning arrows from the deck

but the foam bricks are swaying in the wind

 

you don’t want a war with ants

 

lethargic letters falling from gaping 

mouth doesn’t cover it anymore

 

these cash cows only produce dirty c.r.e.a.m.

 

your words flick around like a flame

                                              burning those too near

they echo from caskets carrying living souls

that      crawl       across the grave dirt

ground   trying to escape the low-lying fog

 

you lay out the powder yourself 

now we’re all snorting lines of exidust

in chains of your lexiconquistadors making

 

we tie ourselves to the ground and struggle to get out of your imprinted tracks

the political diatribe is a logical landslide

                          your policies are wasted ejaculates tossed in the garbage

on

used up towels

 

they could have been somebody

 

look

        we aren’t babies trying to walk 

            when we haven’t mastered crawling yet

 

we are a society forced to crawl when we know we can run

 

Armageddon is Just a Field of Dirt by Tyler Wood

 

Night created a vacuum,

the world outside vanished,

white walled universe squared

around the kids. The stairs -

sirens – calling reform, they knew.

They wished for silence in the dark.

 

They kissed silently in the dark,

padlocking secrets in their mouths

to be released only in the soft air

of last exhilations. Fear remained,

antagonist to the heart? Hands

wrapped around hands and flesh.

 

A squeek from above jilted hearts

like love. The dark became fear

again, losing its cocoon appeal.

The universe expanded for millenia,

then contracted again, hearts softened.

The eyes stared into each other

 

brown and blue like the earth planet.

Their universe was back to square.

Quiet re-opened an interlocking,

desperatly softer and more concerned.

Seeking hands touchfeel skin

and virgin sense perceptions.

 

The floor beckened like ancient times,

hard capture against the wood grain.

Wind across glass, the only sound,

outside reminding. The staircase quiet

revealed interbody transformations.

There would be no tomorrow.

 

There could be no tomorrow for them,

the kids who sat in the dark

no longer exist. The universe

left the bodies laying quiet

under the dark sky moon

on a land filled with dirt.

 

Her Awakening by Tyler Wood

 

His tongue dried her tear ducts
they went in after slipping the driver a couple bucks
Her hands were pressed against the wood grain
they were limp but forceful, recovery – pain,
it might wash away. That was what she thought,
He brought his best face forward, but she wasn’t looking.
Her mascara stained eyes were vacant and searching
the body for signs, replenishment. His fingers – in, out
over skin discovering. Her fingers trailed his touch
She was picking up what he left her,
it wasn’t much.
Her hands trembled in the blank room
they sought recompense from a noiseless tune.
Her eyes never met his, they sought release.
His eyes poised on flesh, they were at peace.

Hands were laid upon her stomach, back, throat.
His fingers gripped her long black hair and slightly tugged,
She released a note,
it resembled life. The life she was searching for.
It was just a flash but her eyes closed
Her smile arose and her nose twitched just a bit

 

Rhythm Synthesis by Tyler Wood

 

The baby blue sky covers the treetops

unison expanse covering the land.

The land which I find myself

walking on. Upon the pebbled path

trees rustle in the wind as if I

could speak to them, and they to I.

A leaf detaches from its home,

falling, it spirals, its border lit like fire,

twisting. I hear only thumping

footsteps, my feet upon the paths

pearly pebbles. Swishing of the leaf

mixes with the pebbles beneath my feet

mixing rhythm with a rhyme.

Standing there, standing still is time,

swishing and thumping making music,

the leaf dances in the air as I stare

moving my body in circles. Air whips around

I and the leaf in equal time. I and the leaf

equal in time, the spine of the tree, the spine

of each. Swishing and thumping mixing

to one sound, the heart beat – ba boom –

varicose veins extend to the tips of the leaves

pulsing blue blood from my fingers,

sap fills my forearm.

I no longer see sun,

only footprint.

Hear only air,

leaf outline

line

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