eclipse

and they came
marching in...
those little blue
men, and their
gaping maws --
swallowing ideas whole,
sans Tobasco

those thoughts didn't
belong to me
so i thought
alien presence in
the upper dormitories

an American heritage
and earthly solutions
coffee and nicotine
in an asphalt oasis
bolts of lightning
surface on the
purple fissures
of my cerebellum

and i think of
yesterday's tomorrows
and sigh
"change your light bulb!"
said the attendant
as he handed me a
towel to dry my imagination

elocution
transmutation
transformation
intimidation
frustration
masturbation
what's your destination?

Hades on a toothpick
H'ordeuvres picante for
your more particular tastes
habeas corpus
carpe corpe mortis say i

dancing on marbles
in the ballroom of
Festus Xavier
with the Mistress of the Moon

golden lamps
and silver sheep
lavender mudflaps
whipping up mud
from the lips of dogs

S is for stealth
as i step deftly
through the gardenias
of your soul
tap out if you must


d.c. massey (Albuquerque, NM, 1972)

More from this author at Musings of a Mad Celt