A Fisheye Lens Poem

A bit of grit between
corner of waffled concrete
with plans to walk over you in
Summer’s intervention.

---------------------------

Magellan (and the albatross)

The mélange of merlot and streetlights simmered
like a strawberry seed tincture.

The whorl of smoke spoke as
gray ocean waves, breaking
upon my back.

I am Magellan, encircling
global lips, counting
final breaths.

------------------------------

The Tourniquet

Karma tends to twitch,
but more like a shudder

Kismet breaks
her pirouette in four-four time
while Clarity fantasizes
of spitting in the face of hindsight

When Kismet was bitten
by the cobra Karma, it was Clarity
that responded with a tourniquet.

-----------------------------

Argumentum ad Populum

Water boils in the pot I once called black;
steam coils around the spot
where once this egg was cracked
--a turtle bereft of shelled back.

What could have lived without me, now
I rend with grinding teeth.

--------------------------------

Syllables and Ashtrays

Our meeting was a solstice
spun between a fibrous sun
and the closest to earth I’ve ever been.

Bass fissures the canyon’s depth--
treble filters the cigarette.

Saline’s metronomic drip;
tuning shot from the hip.
The song the synapse plays
says that we’re only syllables and ashtrays.