SUMMER UNDER A BLACK SUN

In a time of idle plagues
       and cold lust
Smoke rings drift through a deep fog
A frozen sky
       suspended above milky lakes
And the rings bend and ripple
       then break
Spilling countless fleas
       an army of tiny fears
They organize into a phalanx
Cloaked in crimson
       and violet velvet
Following stretching ley lines
       of smoke
Marching through white trees
       thrust from the earth
Like curved bones
       or cats claws through cotton

From where I lay I can see that violent parade approaching
And run to hide in the shallow milky lakes
       on the sticky shores
To wait out this meek season in heavy shadows
       blanketed in yawning nights
Below hundreds of luminescent orbs floating and breathing
Defining unsteady constellations
       refracted as through a misted lens
Like a near forgotten face
       fading behind closed lids
      

SUCRE SUR LA MERDE

The rings under his eyes sagging
soaked hammocks hung to collect
blood, dripping from capillaries
or tributaries branching off irises.
     "A fruit tree
     planted by every child
     that's all I'm saying."
Sucre sur la merde!

Ten years transient
stripped of flags
navigating shame, unaware
we all lack accurate maps or
burn them once we settle for being lost
swimming polluted rivers in silence,
thumbing the reset button.
Sucre sur la merde!
    
     "I don't think it's too late,"
shades slowly drawn over red electric storms
a warm sour breeze and
his swaying, reaching clumsily
for more wine and
     "fruit trees for tomorrow."
Sucre sur la merde!