A Beautiful and Unique Snowflake

Weathered copies of an art magazine
From ninety-nine and onward through aught five
Chronicle my generation’s need to be seen
Before we really believe we’re alive.

Turn of the century, end of an age
Alias caught by the table of contents
Each artwork reclines alone on the page
We let the art speak the author’s torments.

Fast forward just a handful of years,
Pages printed in two thousand and four.
Italic moniker below each script
Our ‘identities’ assert a bit more.

One more year passed, aught-five was printed
on each facing page, the inventor’s name
large face, bold print, a cry for attention,
we’re desperate for our moments of fame.

Monday, June 28, 2010

To Dance.

I want to dance with determination
To move as if moving were salvation.

I want to breath deeply and close my eyes
Surrender to music ‘til ev’rything dies

My lungs will fill with blood; my heart with air.
My mind will empty, but I will not care.

I’ll dance as if calories were poison,
Like movement is the only way joy’s won,
Like my rhythm sets the tides of the sea
And when I spin the whole wide world spins with me.

Because if I stop, the stars will darken.
The moon will fall and the demons harken,
to us all, drawn in by my stillness here,
To haunt us with death, and motionless fear.

Monday, June 14, 2010

The non-dreamer.

When I eat chocolate just before bed,
it has no effect upon my head.
No dreams or visions come in the night
to enlighten or impress, inspire or fright.

I wake in the morning, as normal as ever
crass, bold, unpredictable, clever.
And I wonder if the trade off, in my life so sweet,
is that my dreams are real, but I have untroubled sleep.

Tuesday, June 01, 2010