That's Nonsense

Like speech she with pink roses flows under phantom eras and garners frost along the way, never turning her head to even nod at robins fluttering in fog. I would say the memorization of oil spills churned somewhere, but it's hard to be sure when trembling hands shiver vision as well. Belting lugubrious lullabies in such a case is far from the plateau where she lived alone with people. Saturn's ice rings skated on a rink but no one agreed with that either. She vandalized the barriers by spray painting typeface and facing all types of perplexed stares and narrowed jawdrops. The mist in the midst of things was warmer, milkier, than she had expected. So she kept going. She kept believing in unbelieving, and the honeycomb followed with more than one queen.

Hero

At noon,

you'd walk in through the wooden door

on channel 12.

Your chin was always up

and your lips would stretch into a

no-reason, every-reason

smile

every day.

You'd transform from

overcoat to cardigan

zipped up to the neck

and then zipped down

to sternum's base

so your heart could breathe.

Workboots would leave --

one tossed from right

and caught lightly by the left --

and be replaced by comfortable canvas.

You would walk from Learning to Learned,

each sidewalk step a stone

in the splashing stream of

heartfelt intrigue.

Along your searching paths

you would ask us to be your f-r-i-e-n-d,

we accepted you each time

and walked with you to places

of invention: the peanut butter factory,

its endless conveyor belts;

of creativity: the richly painted art class

of the underclass;

and the most real of them all,

the place of make-believe: where a red trolley

and about four piano keys would take us

to cloudless skies and

where love spoke in puppet voices,

which we found out later

were almost all from your very own

ventriloquy.

We'd answer your questions

of gentle philosophy

from our couches, between sips

of our mini caprisuns,

and our elders would chuckle at

our eager replies.

But for certain we knew you heard us

and listened,

neighbor.

Ignis Fatuus

Stockpiled behind tear ducts and between heartfibers
are little clusters of emotion just for you.

Each one glows
after every harmless compliment
you place in my hand
and fold my fingers over.

Some little bundles, though, elide
the warmth in your words, while

others quaff it -- like you would
sparkling wine, many a sip at
many a time right after midnight
when the new year
begins -- until
each comment in passing
turns

into a handsel of jade hanging from a
thin chain around my neck
or another added charm dangling from
small chainlinks around my wrists.

Then, even when overcast are
nimbus clouds, campus lawns are
verdant and the flowers that sprout
from three-leaved clovers
are precious. And my face is ridiculous
with erubescent undertones from so much
capering across pastures only I've seen
and watered.

There are also, of course,
rational voices inside which broadcast
adages that suddenly apply. They see the chimera
attacking neural networks
with purple fire. The voices flay
and suddenly there is my rigor mortis face with a
drumming heart and we walk
side by side you and I
as we have always.