5

Can’t you help, 

but weave webs, with pauses and words, graceful or gross, desperate or cruel, web within a web, life made of lives? Sophistry might be fun, or reflex like cocking a gun; but a touch of truth, accidental or otherwise, known or unknown, will burn down the anchors, that hold the kingdom, of your mind, suspended with words; trivial at first, momentous later. If I were to weave too, versions of truth; emotions twilling with reason, mundane with mystic, complete in parts, never the whole; would you bother, to look through them, and jump into the fire, or will a version suffice? T

4

Child on the stairs, looking into the unknown, with unwavering eyes, feels at home. Ascetic on the move, shedding ashes in the wind, to find golden embers, feels hungry. Sleepy early birds, getting ready to sing, watch the fifth sky, turn blue. Unrelated on the surface, yet asseverate they all do, the dissolving weights, of cosmic alchemy. T 

3

Burning eyes,

broken back,

heavy head,

sunken heart.

It glitters still,

your soul,

with glee, 

awaiting the show.

Blaring voices,

marinated in sorrow,

crackle over the radio-

It’s time now

ladies and gents,

for the spectacle,

we promised you.

So hold your breath,

and get ready,

for the greatest pyrotechnics show,

in the history and future,

brought to you,

by god himself.

Burning bodies,

broken religions,

heavy sighs,

sunken souls.

It glitters still,

the soul,

with glee,

awaiting popcorn.

T