a chunk of mount olympus

in pale imitation of Charles Simics' "Stone"

Ranch-style haunt of tiny carbon gods,
Slate-roofed shelter from Hera’s wrath and sandal-slap,
Inside this jagged polygon, dense walls impose on tiny rooms.
Molecules, packed shoulder to shoulder, still wriggle.

Inside this solid I would be safe,
Locked inside a stout-walled vault,
Spartan, dim, impenetrable.
I’ll claim my corner and crouch, among huddled molecules, satisfied,
protected from the tricks of fickle earth;
walled in from tremor, from storm, from tidal wave.

Inside, I trace a path, pace to pass time,
I wander the labyrinth.
Each footfall stirs the trapped air,
grinds stone into dust.
Lonesome for the world,
With fingertips I'll trace names on the stone wall,
the shapes of trees, of wooden houses and the sun.

Worn by relentless single steps,
riven by the rub of soft flesh,
chiseled, slowly, by a trickle of exhaled air,
the stout walls erode to threadbare.

These claustrophobic molecules
break away in slow single file
as pebble, or mote, or grain of sand,
patiently dismantling this stone shelter,
dispersing my Olympus.

Time erodes what elements cannot crack;
My breath will unravel what gods can’t break apart.

migration

playing with sound and thinking about the move from Colorado to Louisiana

Eggshell and sickly salmon walls enclose enclaves of promised repose
Broken with a fifth of vodka and NoDoz;
Brass accents match
cold glowing bulbs, locked hollow doors,
Lifeless as catalogs.

Flailing to escape,
Punching holes in the drywall to prove
it can't contain you,
you escape, callow little thing:
Vaulted
past sturdy ceiling beams,
though airborne, you seem
weighted, laden, fraught.
Catapulted, launched flipless, arrow-straight,
Southbound, seeking Haunted.

These soggy grounds, musty as wet wool, absorbed you;
mists blur lines and colors bleed
through wallpaper's sediment, curling back from crumbling brick,
no promises here, you earn what rest you find.

Faded and smoke-stained,
this south lacks order, lacks tact, it is
thumped, punched, staid: true.

hubris

an experiment with compressed rhyme inspired by a pompous hostess

Pure ego, unbowed, leaves you dumbstruck and cowed,
and I
own this crowd;
and it
is avowed
that I'm smart 'cause I'm loud.

My powers come from a rare mutation--a chronic need for your adoration
I'm the leader, you are grateful nation; I'm Toussaint and you are a Haitian;
Drape my statues with decoration: lace and laurel, cause that's your station
(and
spare me the indignation--
this is no two-way conversation,
it's a clandestine operation
where I locate your lacerations
and
drink
your
blood).

My esteem needs to propagate, I'm alive when I dominate
See, I'm trying to compensate for my cranial empty plate.
Though I binge, I can never sate;
All I see is a self-portrait.

That's why I'm garrulous.
I think I'm clever but I'm querulous.
I always talk but I don't discuss; I bang on but I don't percuss.
This self-love's so lascivious, when you speak I'm oblivious.

When I state what is obvious, you're expected to make a fuss:
Treat my words like a grand opus
Thus
Make my breathing less frivolous.
If you are envious you may call me imperious, you could point to my arrogance,
but your words are transient
and mine
go
on.

This room is my circus tent.
Main event: verbal flatulence
endless tales of my youth misspent will distract from my indolence.
I say nothing so adamant you can't see that it makes no sense.
Gentlemen call me "radiant" as I spew out contaminants--
virulent strains of ignorance,
anecdotes flow inordinate
I see weakness in reticence
and
I
pounce.

I enthrall with the gall of my words' urban sprawl
and you're caught in the squall of my rapid recall
and
fire.

Though you pall when I bawl like to crack the drywall
I still need to hold all of your rolling eyeballs
on
me.