VERSE - KETCHCETERA: Evoke. Transform. Create

Achilles’ Heel

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Grid Six

Aliquam urna! Hac arcu aliquet! Diam aenean, lacus mus a risus urna ut quis, amet cras diam. Porta scelerisque montes turpis? Urna! Tristique, pulvinar ut sit et mattis in dignissim dignissim, augue parturient porta! Diam, nec elementum ac vut nisi a, penatibus a turpis? Mattis porta, adipiscing, a lundium lorem, vel enim pellentesque habitasse habitasse? Rhoncus diam etiam vel tempor penatibus, lorem habitasse phasellus? Lectus turpis aliquet. Pulvinar, habitasse, aenean tincidunt. Hac lectus, proin scelerisque. Placerat quis? Sociis eros? Amet nisi vel augue! A dapibus? Et ridiculus, nunc, sagittis. Natoque aenean, ultricies dapibus mattis pid, auctor. Porttitor dis elementum in? Arcu scelerisque eu, urna nunc amet eu vel augue turpis est, dapibus quis sagittis integer, urna, adipiscing elementum egestas.

dreamer’s bed

the rain comes down
like a guillotine
the loner makes his way
frightened by the machine
he’s walking fast to nowhere
but he’s somewhere to go
some higher calling
some imagined plateau

he fancies himself a healer
but he’s got scars that won’t heal
he thinks himself a poet
but his words he’s had to steal
a victim of some coup d’etat
he hangs between two thieves
he calls himself the chosen
but he too has been deceived

this Rip Van Winkle
for a moment he opens his eyes
he tests his bones
and tires to rise
but all his memories
are twenty years long dead
heeding only the voices
the choir in his head

but jesus has a fever
into another light has fled
shelter sought in treasured madness
hiding under the dreamer’s bed

gasoline dream

on this pumpkin colored sofa
i handed her my eyes
in the darkness i discovered
in the quiet i realized
how quickly into the forgetting
her face, it disappears
and in the lightning’s tumbling instant
the thunder is all one hears

the little pimpled man
picking flowers and whining of love
as he waits for an angel
to descend from heights above
oh he writes some pretty poetry
and some songs he’ll never, ever sing
his vision falters and he finds an angel
but she’s missing feet and wings

i once went to a two-bit mystic
a shaman, a medicine man
he said he could change the weather
with just a wave of his hand
he gazed into his crystal ball
said, “son, when you going to learn?
you’d best put your affairs in order
cuz boy, you’re going to burn!”

yes, i’m going to burn
loneliness, wake me from this dream
she’s emptied out the can
and doused me in gasoline

the painter

if i could be a painter
draping colors on your skin
bathe your shoulders in iridescence
watch the pastels mute and blend
take a part of your sould
and paint myself a blanket
don’t the disturb the past while she is sleeping
dance the marble naked

i look at my palette and hear your laughter
in its colors i can see your smile
paint your face in the everafter
then gaze for a little while
my brush touches the canvas gently
falling off your laughing eyes
it is life i give myself to
and i love you with all my life

when the sun kisses the far horizon
darkness falls, the embrace of night
i steal quietly back to look
on your face in the candlelight
but if i could be a painter
all other talents forsaken
i’d breathe on the mirror of life
and dance the marble naked

Abri

i come here often
tho’ this place i’ve never known
she beckons
pulls me here calling softly
her voice, heavy
like a stone

from under my feet
i feel escape a sigh
her dark beauty
abundant areolas pressing
against the heavy weight
of a blue-gray sky
morning takes my sleeping
wakes my dead
light trembling then steady
these intricate traceries
setting her flesh on fire
tawny-red
Eros alight softly on my shoulder,
a dove
her cooing dancing from
ear to ear
i know here, only here
what it is to love

i come here often
tho’ this place i’ve never known
she beckons
pulls me here calling softly
her voice, heavy
like a stone

Grid Two