Somewhat immaterial due to the
proliferation of time drugs in this quadrant, star field slips by in pebbled
onslaught of folding secondhand news, crushing distant thunderclouds in frosted
futurity of burbled insects.
“High-eye, Capstan!” salutes the
commodious odoriferous loitering remnant of our foisted mate, O’Silly O’Shea
Candiru O’Sire-us, father of Maundy a folding charioteer.
Indeed, that would make this
Capstan’s Flog, Star Delay irrelevant or at the verily yeasty totally
illegible, ineligible for fodder stumps, SoCal seclusion fees, maniacal married
cardigans, fleeced mechanics, gloved handicappers, prosthetic limburger,
sneezed eruption tetanus ponds, or faintly glorious pastures. Indeed, whodunit
is also a smutty point, moldy and snooty, wad with all hands Velcroed to the
deck, all dealings relegated to parity dumping corns.
Oh, to have feisty knees against
the slinky narrow swans, equipping shoveled sailors with these dazed and
kumquat reproved probationary jargon freaks gone silently into amorphously
abrogated cotton sheets!
Dateline Hominy Lulus doze attack
to screw up a toga three times a lackey? Sol depends on stellar gramophones in
orbit surround Upper Disco, sand known once art yelling data smooch of
anything, cleavin’ the zero-g fling emissary apple crux-spin wedge sweet
noodlings fine them shelved. Sag in, hit all schemes to comely town to these
daze. Sand noon when nose mulch about-face value chronology under more.
“Nod me,” gurgled many a junky,
phlegm big bad bony behind.
A lone bird flies by in southern
space, bashfully unaware of impish endless rerun dimes. Poor Effluent Decatur
Rosily-Felt, erstwhile dilapidated rhododendron, leg awl cooed paternal
unguent, he’s one thirsty mane from bling so valuable as to slake his unwhetted
veterinary surgeon’s most shellfish whistle stop tourniquet for heavier donut
leprechauns. Narrower bums cackle and tease the unprecedented sleeper scar in
habituated jewelry mode, sawing off the alpine inequity what hovers just below
the furry ceiling of low-cropped cumuli in subtle depravation.
“Fly, fly, Capstan Coke!” I
filially virally scotched the surd, meaning seizure we opinion ship or sad sale
fur spurts unrobed.
“Stall abed foul!” Eye cry,
squirting turtledoves from annuli in sodden insurrection, quaking coldly
slobbered saliva drowning skinny slippery tanned and tidal dumpling landfill
“Lotta execrable quotidian escrow
data in themed tarheels,” Kabuki Clem remarks nightly causal out of time-trap
slush, just wading down decadal duodenum all inter-swirly on me. “Yippity
buzzsaw, Idle scupper yer riding nut clean offal into fanned lethal pumping
groin hefty skiff me swan mere chant!”
slovenly fairly too warm him or sandy manta or seven Santas fir matted
flatulence. Sigh mien ewe chest cramped hall oft hound lop cough immense
technicolor weird out a swarming, canny? Occurs knot, a cursive nod, a Corsican
knob, occultation jellyroll probability lozenge.
“Are we prehistorically ratiocinate?”
Kabuki sacks all knowledgeable disco horse machines, swaddling beans leapt from
hysterical Dearth to smeared inviolate lime tines.
“So rack your limbs, sit on
bestial icon glue, slurry too sway,” Eye fined my shelf fiercely sputtering in
mast-limit lounge act. Shallow copter floats by in thuggish atmosphere, means
we mustard on reentered phlegm slow Dearth obituary colloquy.
“Tat’s wad crude can
tergiversation wheel get ewe!” Kabuki cackles, faking his fistula, serrating
unto thyme release.
Eye slam on emergent seals,
porpoise leash bet necked accessory, paltry of nanoseconds to spire, scathing
the crude ship aforementioned slump wherewithal duo buoy pone rewax. Cowed
mangy stagecoach tires dude yawn ding Kabuki’s gunner go through, dime-shopping
phlegm wan legacy too an altered? Show lung wheeled pea bay furor heel reel
eyes tare alley daze aim?
Pet thyme hasp known capsule suit
reverence hear oar ant he wears, morphed mat chatter; Kabuki huff sallow
steeples nose’s disk. So, yeah, covered horse he’s jest eschewing hem solve,
looting surround galactically, shucking cup marked data, melee bleat heaven fun
schmoozing fancy pull-nuts watt are weed-ink sprouting distance, riven sprain
pans all a sprocket imp and loadie dingle angle goop dialing sound auric why
The avenues have departed.
Long since has it been when mother
Last closed her music box.
In fact, I was but a boy of seven then;
Now, I'm a man haunted by a boy's half-dream:
The Minotaur among the honeysuckle,
Under a Minoan summer sun soon to be
Honored with the blood of so many boys
Grown to soldiers.
For them, the avenues have departed;
There is no escape...
From Crete to Normandy and on to Basra-
The music box is only opened in a dead
("Avenues" was first published on Dagda Publishing's website
on May 1, 2013.)
"Never The Invitation"
I need night, where oft I am dismissed.
I need night, to rewrite myself, as always I am written off.
Born- since have my days been miscarriage;
No nation for me, no messages from God, no hope.
I looked into the summer settings of the sun and knew the
Winter of my gnosis would be forever.
'I hate you,' says my reflection from the window.
Window!- the base of the cipher's empire. Ever
looking in, but never the invitation.
Stray dogs and cats and the mad committed to the
Streets; indeed, they are my legions against the
Parties where the "saved" gather.
Parties...the maw of Our Lord.
Hurled down by the angels and the primates,
I am the skeleton, self-packaged in a grey trench coat;
My apron crudely cut from the tapestry of beautiful beliefs.
Soured in the mouth of a man who cannot turn to Dionysus when
And now I put the morning paper down on the
floor to preserve it.
From the Torture.
I am, as I was when first I learned to speak,
Ever so devout.
Dennis Williamson, formerly published under the pen name Dennis
Villelmi, is the author of numerous poems, the science fiction short
story "The Apian Way," (appearing in Dagda Publishing's anthology "All
Hail The New Flesh") as well as the epic poem, "Fretensis, In the Image
of a Blind God vol. 1"(also originally from Dagda, but now a book in
need of a new home.) Additionally, there is his author's blog, "Dennis
Williamson, a death's head in green light." Mr. Williamson lives in
D. Gray is a writer, an author of fiction, and a poet. His chapbook,
Come Fly with Death: Poems Inspired by the Artwork of Zdzislaw
Beksinski, is available now in print and digital formats. When he isn’t
writing, Wesley enjoys a wide variety of geeky activities, but mostly,
tabletop gaming with family and friends. He resides in Florida with his
wife and two children. Learn more at: WesDGray.com.