7/30/2019 AMONG THE GNOMES

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AMONG THE GNOMES

Fire in the sky

drops down in flaming tears of burning jelly

covers the ground in bubbling ooze

there was never any television wonderlandthere was never any mad dash for thunder

there was never any never

I sit in Foixits not cold

my liver hurts

there is no fair

I have no faith

All in Foix all in the chair of mountains

which spills into the Atlantic through Asturias

after being belched up around the Black Sea

There is no reason to continue this charade

. . . .

The men and the womenif indeed they are

human, scurry about in white lab coats

looking less confident than the rats

they are testing in a maze

constantly rearranging itself under the

command of a sophisticated algorithm

there has been some kind of breakdown

the expected result has been trumped

by an unforeseen element

the dragon has given over to the guppy

the sky has revealed itself after

many centuries of disguise

The sculpture war has begun!

statues have jumped off their pedestals

and begun attacking passersby

There is no riot there is no sound

It is the softest war ever known

carried out in granite and marble

. . . .

The occupation force

microscopic in size-- literally --

Infection holds sway over the lumbering giant

. . . .

Now the real work begins

What is this strange inability?

When did concentration die &

consternation fly?

The general strike has spread outwards

to the mermaidsThey will not sing to sailors

I could have....

yeah

woulda coulda shoulda

Im not sure, Gibby

Regretting all that Ive done seems

as painful as regretting what Ihavent

It seems as though in all my peregrinations

I have fragmented myself

suffered from too many goodbyes

suffered from too much loving

There are so many places my heart lies

Cold in a hole and cold in its Falsehoods

The worst of which has never landed me

in the hot water I....but some truthsshould not be written

At least not now

The cold glare

The extreme circle of heat and cold

both burning at different velocities

the swift consumption of the biting

delayed disintegration

One perfectly preserved in the ice

so sudden, so dramatic

Another with black lips and

no fingertips

When did the rabbit die?

When did the Klink of Keys die?

The door slammed shut

The menacing grin of an opportunistic

Friendship

The pillow which has slipped into

dark oblivion

a dank smithereena fragment of the exploded looking glass

When did the gold revert back to shit?

The flame sputter into the snap

crackle pop ofa decidedly

non-cereal elf

Plunging the chamber into darkness

Mocking the drooping eaves

under which silent mice scurry

7/30/2019 AMONG THE GNOMES

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7/30/2019 AMONG THE GNOMES

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shut the door on the noise and

commence to fucking

Your ceaseless battlecry is:

a desolate cemetery

a television thru the walls

a squalling infanta delirious refrain

captured by a faulty net

Butterflies turn cartwheels

in the sky but

the dead take no heed

Somehow they have forgotten

how to care

Perhaps that sentiment

disappeared as their noses

caved in

Drunken Mexicans

drink Mezcal

w/cherries

Slip into midnight

graveyards

with drunken gringos a-tow

Peer into tombs so

poorly placed we see

gaping maws and

smell a charnel funk

Tienes Miedo?

No, not of skulls

and dead flesh

But of disturbing

the town w/

this intrusion

The long bonesof the leg are removed

and incredibly thrown over the

wall

We bolt straight from thru the main gate

and hide in our adobe building

Bolt securely locked against

the pounding that wont go away

. . . .And now children imitate memories

they have never even seen

Their minds like overturned cupsFour more hours to go

Slide the desk against the door

and block out the sun

slide cock into waiting vulva

Swollen and bristling

A fruit opened. . . .

The gaslite ploy

convincing the invincible

of their questionable madness

as the roar of the machinery

begins to sound like pounding surf

Nature broken down into a series

of painted tin plates warped

and waffled about by

dead certainties

One side loses nuanceThe other a sense of truth

In the middle of this raging

war the rest of us drink

stale wine and look for

scraps of food,

ready to kill if only invisibility

offers the chance

A skull

in a box

with maggots