Burden of proof

Investigators
respond immediately;
their analysis is
abrupt and callous.
No difference,
they conclude, between
the bullet that killed him
and the one that missed -
simply a matter
of forced perspective.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
InI, Step Up

Manipulator/Squanderer

[The Greeks] bequeathed to us one of the most beautiful words in our language, the word enthusiasm - en theos - a god within.
- Louis Pasteur

Deconstruct a mind.
Find only a mess of
melted ice cream and
the myriad species of
ants that crawl over it.
What real sustenance
might they find there?

We remember being
a wasted construct -
we remember that it's
rolled up sweatpants;
we remember that it's
angrily burning insects
with a magnifying glass.

We remember that it's
rolling joints in receipts
at four in the morning
and watching the sun
burn through early haze.
We remember that it's
power, pure and evil.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Arcade Fire, Reflektor

The dark heart

The trees speak loudest
in the early morning,
when thirsts are quenched
and the years pour out -
just weddings and moods
stretched in rippling order.
At night, all becomes tribal
and they dance a strange,
disorderly melody, motionless
as they rend the blazing air.
The seams of the universe
come apart, portals open
in streaks of cold, yellow fire.
It's all cold from this far away.
It's all just wishes, make believe.
_________________________________________________

Been reading lots of good things lately:

From the first issue of Cloud Rodeo, two poems from Quinn White.

Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco nailed it in the newest issue of decomP.

My friend Zach is doing good things - this is one of them.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
OK Go, White Knuckles

Dealing with it

Done. Eyes like
ghosts of
a shattered bottle,
drunk and discarded,

taped loosely
to reality, no stronger
than a dead leaf
gripping a windshield.

The sun is back
by the time he leaves,
anchor chain cut,
adrift on pavement,

his constitution
bound together
with fading,
fraying bandages,

his past like
an old war wound,
a howling twinge
in every rainstorm.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Paul Simon, Hurricane Eye