despite our thirst for kindling
we dwell mostly in the dark,
squatting in the ashen embers
of yesterday’s blaze,
for the spark
done with desperate days
running clamorous corridors,
preferring now the balm
of a quiet twilight,
waiting for Eos
to truckle voile,
or simply sitting with silence,
awaiting the hushed glow
of a naked wick
Point and click if you must,
apertured, cross-process capture,
naïve, fractured pixel weave.
Filter out chalybeous hue,
swift remove creeping gentian,
sift periwinkle powder blues.
Let alizarin bleed through shades
of melancholic monsoon madder,
choleric carmine, sliced away.
Leave only mellow ash blonde blush
lemon chiffon, naples yellow,
soft papaya, stil de grain.
Sundrench me in saffron timbre,
lutescent vignette, haloed amber,
incandescent freeze-framed hush.
Paddling swiftly now beyond
deluged days and swollen nights,
ebony umbrellas languish
in hushed oaken hallways,
In the prism-drenched
meadows of tomorrow
parasols and petticoats twirl.
Dissected Frog by Johann Rosenhof
Nausea lies just beneath
formaldehyde surface tension,
the stink of chemicals, latex and bile
violating torpid air. Amphibians
pinned to cheap chipboard;
skin surprisingly un-clammy.
Tranquilised, triple-lidded eyes
will not see the midday sun
rippling pond scum
or catch the quick swim of pollywogs
as they erupt gelatinous spawn.
Tiny tympani unable to hear
the nervous slice of the scalpel
or the greasy ooze of fluids
escaping the obsolete cloaca.
Liver, stomach and pancreas,
plump and ripe for removal,
cardiac pump a little harder to find,
but it is the minute testicles
that remain elusive, that dodge
the delicate tweezers
trembling between pink fingers
until finally located inside
the prone, olive body.
Diurnal curtain falls as Belenus
takes a bow, casting angled
shadows on slated gambrel.
Dusk deep-toes rusty gutters;
twilight’s precipitous bluff
sloughed in pulpous moss.
Calignosity clings to the ridge,
rinsing secrets in rainwater,
awaiting incandescent resurrection.
Lassitude drags her bare feet across blonde wood;
mellow-beamed in milky, branch-broken light.
Sleep-splintered, draped in cotton-stripe fatigue,
stalking the sink of a cushioned chimera,
she buckles instead to the barbed ruin of her companion;
quietly cursing the brackish insolence of his grasp.
Lacquer clogs my early morning mouth.
Spitting curses and acetates, I watch
as her barely-there bottom
perches on Kohl-smudged porcelain,
spidery legs dangling from the
Eye-liner daggers drawn,
parrying tongues and tangling elbows
we jostle for space and giggles,
jousting in a lotion-cluttered arena,
hairspray mace and mascara lances –
fighting for glass.