haiku 2

confused little boys
whistle Hail to the Chief, low
to themselves. power

fate?

O Moirae!
Did you submerge my thread in tar
and hand it gently to the executioner's wife?
Does destiny dine in a truckstop Midwest,
drenched in tobacco airs, this blackened life?
The tired days and working ways interest me no more,
yet the heavy lids and hammer held be oft remembered lore.

And, Sweet Hammer,
Do I wield you as Peter, or as Maxwell,
for peace, or to implement dire fear?
And, Hammer, is life a giant mechanism,
within which I be a mere gear?
If so the stage and fictitious sage be vagrants of my mind,
and for to prosper and for wellness I do devote my time...

cryptos

i

ineptitude's favorite song is solace,
a constant ringing in my ear
the faceless horsemen pull the reins,
i think they heard the song too

ii

you are a river, soft and calm
i, myself, felt a pig despite my alms
given for grace to a tireless waif

oh, sweet river! what id give
to wash my face again in your waters
its the fake sense of understanding
and the fake caresses that you foster

iii

but the waif is gnawing at my toes
and she the river, she no longer flows
and solace, the trumpet, it no longer blows
and the path ahead, it no longer glows
and the horsemen, lost, they no longer know
just which way their horse will go
in search of solace,
understanding,
a sweet caress,
a mythological place of cryptics

a haiku

An unfettered
flowing stream of soft content,
Everything change