may as well be a coffin.
It is already cold.
And full of dirt.
Though I doubt it is hallowed.
But nothing is ever completely accurate
in reality’s slight.
So close the door.
And be content.
is the only thing
that will bother
to follow you in.
editors note: Our little blip does not eternity make? I feel slighted, too. Night, night. - mh clay
Sadness rains from lines of dotted eyes,
permeating scripted font, selected
to emulate long-handed care. Scanned
briefly before being quickly dismissed.
Discarded as corny self-indulgence,
the browser, closed without second
thought. They are trapped
in sentient cell, mourning lack
of salvatory filing, counting down
their days to inevitable deletion.
editors note: But, wait - how about the Cloud? Everything lives in the Cloud forever, right? - mh clay
shade of flower.
I am temperamental,
difficult to raise.
Enticing, I can be soothing,
My roots are savage,
deadly if taken to heart.
editors note: A shredder, not a shrinker. Beware, indeed! - mh clay
waveless expanses of blue.
Not breathing or drowning, I float,
an empty cloud in a miserable sky.
I pick at veins to lure companions,
believing the sanctity of devoured
is preferable to the continuous
resonation of devoid.
editors note: Open wide. - mh clay
Creature of improbability,
I waiver in your imagination.
Tempted, you touch, but cannot commit
to formal acknowledgement.
Belief is a permanent fixture,
something that will not be removed,
and I am temporary to the core, a vision
sparkling in the night, dissolving
into something less than a memory
editors note: Easy come, not so easy go. Remember? - mh clay
burn out. One stripe
at a time waves a final flare, falls to
gray. The hollows echo the empty
sentiment of stale breadcrumbs
over roads revealed as not-quite-gold.
editors note: Power fails, colors fade; entropy for all. - mh clay
like a distant ovation
in an arena where games never ended,
where life and death struggled
to survive, to find meaning in eyes
that blued like evening skies.
The sun reflected
this strange anonymity
of cars moving but not passing,
a thousand bright silver bullets
blinking at once,
and I was the silence, the breathing
moment released before everything reopened.
editors note: Gridlock in the middle of gridlock. - mh clay
counting me, as if I were something
backwards that would eventually disappear
like morning. They giggle, check me
off their points, a not-too-human to-do list
that doesn’t really need tending,
just attention from a blind(ing) audience
as temporary as dream.
editors note: One hell of a lag time; our answers won't reach them before they're gone in a flash of nova we'll never see. - mh clay
after Metallic Dreams, artist Osnat Tzadok
I am silver. Gold and bronze,
my brothers in armor (yet to be
forged), crawl from midnight’s fire.
We will join
battle against blasphemous sun.
The enemy of creation
is a molten eye. Clarity
holds a magnifying presence,
scars our skin. We prefer to pick
the scabs, let them run
like rivers amongst the fogged
echo of nocturne’s voice.
editors note: Which awakened sense preceded; eye or ear? The battle for ascendancy endures, elicits art. (This is exemplary ekphrasis; google the artist and work to see A.J.'s inspiration - excellent.) - mh clay
men and machines.
My trichotomous needs.
I choke on associated
editors note: Rehab or resignation? Choice is debatable... - mh clay