ridete! et tu, homo honeste, specta se sequar;
se, hunc regem pentacula, semper rectus, nunquam non.
saepe tuam formam gerit, glutinat in senis larvis
secutus a tu tergo specula invidiae ac aviditatis.
rex pentaculorum opsequium poscit meum
et ego parere et ego vivere odio. ridete, auditores!
rex pentaculorum hospes est et ego ludi sum.


Translation:

Laugh! And you, noble man, see who I follow;
him, the King of Pentacles, always upright, never not.
Sometimes he will take your form, plastered on the old spectres

A Soldier’s Soul A drifter of forgotten wars Once a soldier with golden bullets for honor and love Now an old man lost in a foreign land Crawling through the icy plane A trail of frozen blood paints the newborn snow behind him like a stoned out demon with artistic ambition.

Remember school days, how we would play
like there was no tomorrow?
Now the castles we made
are the price we must pay
or flounder in oceans of sorrow.

Roaming wild and free, crafting houses in trees
as worlds waltzed to discordant tunes.
Like a zephyr through grass,
gilded summer days passed,
left us flayed under Cheshire moons.

Wooden sword fights and valiant knights,
pirates, the Pan and his Bell,
faded from dreams,
rowed ungentle streams,
to where the real monsters dwell.

I’ve climbed faraway trees, seen fair Honah-Lee,

    
While we are still breathing
and the sun’s shining bright,
Give Thou, Lord, to each
what he has not:
To the tyrant give a heart
To the charlatan a truer task
To the sinner offer penitence
To the priest, salvation…
and don’t forget Yours truly.

While the earth is still turning, Lord,
And the wind sweeps its surface,
Give wisdom to the martyr
To the warmonger, peace
To the oppressed give justice
To the lovelorn, forbearance…
and don’t forget Yours truly.

While there’s still time enough, Lord,

Mario Called


Before the body bag
Before the morgue---

I still see you on your tricycle pedaling down
the long pier in Lac Court Oreilles and sitting there,
on the bottom, until we pulled you out.

Mario called to say he saw your corpse,
the Ruger pistol somehow neat across your chest.
The notes left in sandwich bags on the counter.

I still see you, fat cigar in mouth,
high school diploma in hand,
coast guard cap and good intent.

Even with half your head, the color of honey,
your blue eyes and both ears scattered--

On impulse, I buy
a four inch pot,
miniature daffodils,
forced to bloom
in January, a child star
coaxed onto the stage.

Tall, spindly stalks,
little more than thick
blades of grass, heavy
blossoms ready to topple
off the stems like a man
on stilts. 

After a week the petals
wither, turn the brown
of old vellum.  I trim
the yellowed stalks
down to the dirt, intending
to transplant the bulbs
in the earth, but forget.
Spring, summer, fall.
A blade pierces the soil,
casual as a wildflower.

Still ice. Still Jupiter wooing. Still creamy
liquid blouse on hanger with decurved
shoulders. Still holiday parties, the Bible’s
three seeds: pistachio, walnut and almond.
Two box fans still not put away. And still
the neighbor’s wild rabbits hopping into
the same hole. This year’s accounting: vista
of bristlecone pines, an orangery, glass flowers
forever in bloom. Lessened is the temptation
to debone self, give way. Come night:
tracing path of moonlight and thinking
only of moonlight.

I’ll trade you
a hundred pounds of feathers
for a pound of gold.

When I apply the yardstick
to the racing Bugatti
its wheelbase is shorter.

A quart and a half
of nepenthe drowns
seven drams of sorrow.

My unconscious mind
proves too large
for the ten gallon hat.

I’ll trade you
three hundred pounds of butter
for a rack of AK-47s.

Whenever her hair
grows longer than her waist
she reaches for the scissors.

Appeared in Fantastique Unfettered #3, 2011

I.
On the corner of Hope and Providence, I had a vision:
A white blur,
pale as a spectre and fuzzy like a distant dream.
The tread marks burn through the asphalt and follow me everywhere.
Jesus Chrysler!
II.
The office is as quiet as the whispers of my dreams.
The light went out hours ago.
The shadows silhouette off the computer screen and dance off the walls.
NA NA NA NA BOO BOO,
YOU CAN’T HAVE ME!
The keyboard startles me and crescendos.
CLICK CLICK CLICK
Crack goes my skull, pop goes the weasel.
The screen cackles at me:
I MISS YOU.