Saturday, November 25, 2017

It was built of lines, glowing trails like overstimulated retinas.  Rubberish blue-grey flesh, however, had begun to stretch between the violent shimmering edges of its unreality.

Eyes like floating abstractions were beginning to see. Impossible mouths were beginning to hunger.

How had we hoped to control that which we cannot comprehend?

It stirs and frets in vibrating fits even now...

Friday, November 24, 2017

tis the season

I think the tainted, tepid
consumerist thrusts
of unhappy women intent on savings
gave my soul a seeping rash

if not that then,
men with gray hair and
matte windbreakers in
faded hunter green,
crisp navy, or black
with disapproving

families in layers, and layers,
(cold from the bus?)
buying desperate necessaries,
in a tired, resign├ęd rush

one woman, at least, was very happy to pay more than $60
for a few pounds of formed plastic and polyester
not happy, relieved, I guess
the centerpiece of christmas, she called it