Sharpening Stone (day 2326)

Upon a knee
Our warrior was blasphemed
Rose in teeth
Cut down
And consecrated
Upside down
By a dagger
Ten inches long
Through the girth
Of his left rib
Icy reverie ensued
From the coldest of hands
From the North Sea Queen.

Upon a knee
Blood thickly rolled
Like dreadful winter freeze
All words lost
In the eyes of our warrior
Who at long last
Veil removed
Saw truth
Darkness in the heart
Ice in the touch
Of the North Sea Queen.

Upon a knee
A heart slowly broke
Glossed over
With ice
A deep cold
For within this
Intimate hearth
Exposed, revealed
A sharpening stone
Ancient and froze
And our warrior’s sadness
Frigid
Clasped
By the North Sea Queen.

North Sea Queen II by Doreen Broers
North Sea Queen II by Doreen Broers (ig)

On the Run (day 2282)

My hair is getting longer than
I care to let it get
But my teeth get brushed
And I shower in a tap
Near by every morning.
I haven’t seen a razor
Since I’ve left my sheeted bed
But I know life’s just right
The way I ride
An iron horse
Through the day’s open sky.
I’m on the run for bits of fun
And lots of seriousness
To find my own
In a land far off
Where I’ll know no one again.
I eat my meals by picnic bench
And chop my food with a pocket knife
And fall to sleep nearly every night
As the sky says it’s goodnight.

Purple Pants are Right (day 2066)

My purple pants have begun to stretch
Into what is now a rich, royal blue
My teeth, they chatter back and forth
But in this wisdom: nothing more
I propose to block these three freedoms
For they each halt my ability to capitalize
On what has always been naturally me
Now I shall usurp liberty
A statue shall fall to build a wall
And my money God, you shall learn to serve
Until too late, for the end is near
Though I shall not call all so dear
This is a game, rags and all
For my warriors shall build as I say
And my plans will overthrow each day
I will make all Right again
I will make all Great again.

Moon at Midnight – Part XXXXXXV (day 2039)

(part XXXXXXIV)

For three days Willow and I sat
Meditating upon life
Watching the great herd of Elk
Graze the valley below
Laughing as we saw Elk calves
Running to suckle their mothers
And other Elk turning away curious calves
Who weren’t their own to feed
We felt their powerful teeth
Ripping out grass
And then chewing with their rolling jaws
Seemingly no other care in the world
We felt their combined
Powerful hooves rattle the earth
As they slowly came and then went
In their great migration North
Now that the winter ice shields
Were rapidly melting in the spring thaw
We felt their consistent calls
For whom did they send
And from where did the return come from
We could only guess the meanings
But warm breaths
Meeting the cold spring air
Continually sent steam spouts
Up from their great masses
We could smell them
The very essence that they were
In wild and natural pungency
That can mean so many things to the alert
And told us the story of their hardships
They had faced the previous winter
We saw their curiosity
With everything that they passed
Wondering if it was food
Or if it was predator
And if it was at all safe to be here
When they wandered close enough to us
The closest to us would jump back and be alerted
And the others beside it
Would also jump
And scuttle back towards the bulk of the herd
Many would get so close
That we could hear their powerful nostrils
Testing the air for security.

After the third day
We decided that we would take one home with us
So I sent an arrow through the heart
Of a male, ensuring the mother would be able to provide
For the calf until it was able to be on its own
As I dressed the Elk
Willow sent thanks to the Elk gods
For their offering
By evening we had made it out of the valley
And were set up camp by a small stream
Where we washed ourselves
And watched the stars.

part XXXXXXVI

Cried Wolf (day 1563)

My undocked pride scraped noisily
Along an upturned desk;
Persophony had come down low
To loiter around a summer pool.

A loud memory cried wolf
As the phone chimed a familiar tune;
Prometheus at last
Wrangled to the bone.

Deadly as a fool to begin,
My yearning wasn’t a sin;
Lashed out with sharp teeth
– Crying, Demeter’s subtlest revenge.

’57 Appaloosa (day 1227)

Can you control my yelling as I short my conscience to your wedding?
-Laughing with the children blowing bubbles down by the pond-
I didn’t expect to see your friend Lucifer standing there
As I convinced you to drag the fresh linens through tumbleweeds of mystery
-It is the style, I explained bitterly through my clenched teeth-
Amazed to know you fret over the cake with your eyes opened so wide
Calming the sunshine with sips of refreshments from white dixie cups
-I chewed all around the top rim of mine, unable to resist the feeling-
Your sawdust left a trail for the onlookers to follow as you trailed off into obscurity
“Madness” they muttered under their breath directing their eyes to your mother
Her hands were boiling with innocence; a fools bargain at the end of the road
-My loaded shotgun wasn’t a toy gimmick to be taken lightly, though I held it so-
Even the village authorities didn’t know what to make of it all
Trained as they were in 39 different methods to disengage a situation
A calming hustle settled over the observers
-I came prepared with my gradient tinted aviators and beer cozy-
The ’57 should-be-retired Cadillac rolled on over the loose gravel
Unnerving the guests as her tumbleweed dress sat down amongst the tears and stains
Rat piss and shit and splintered deluxe leather upholstery
Sporting a vintage look you can only get from years of missing affection
-I couldn’t help but remark on the timing of it all-
Doorless I was on my sturdy ’94 Bronco, I still had a radio good for the local DJ
But oh was I jealous of the missing hubcap on that old Cadillac
Rattling free as they sped through the streets, top always down.. it was a ’57 after all
We all knew they were notorious for having glitchy automatic tops
Plus, the rust on that thing was shining so bright in that heathen sun
-I turned to the wild thing next to me, nearly popping out of her mid-twenties figure dress-
“Say Cindy-Lou, I’ve gotta cooler full-a-beer, two lawn chairs an’a good-ol-radio
Wanna grab my shotgun an’head on up to the ol’ mine and shoot the breeze?”
-I could see it in her eyes it wasn’t the beer she was after-
Her nose rings and solid gold spacers told me she liked firing shotguns
Wild women always had a soft spot in my heart
Their unnerving contradictions always dropped my caution to the wind
But I rolled out of there with my spirits singing about Friday nights
2 good speakers in the ol’ Bronco: front right and rear left
-I wasn’t spitting sin, I was just riding on the gin waves of the 1230 nuptialities-
So we left those 76 long jaw’d and sweating visitors at those old rodeo grounds
The automatic shifter kicked a bit as it shifted into third
But the dust wasn’t settled from the ’57 Appaloosa
Rattling down the never happier road to short lived elation
We turned right when they turned left
We headed higher as they got down; after all it was honeymoon season
In the land of Friday nights and worn out shotguns

Dragging Left Wing | Chapter II (day 923)

IV

Ritual is what makes us so easy to perceive. But she pulled me away from what had always been designed; a teacher of thought and logic, of expression, of impression on my mind. But she was young and full of piss which drove me up the wall. After-all, what was I but a callused sitting stone washing away in the early light of a new winters day. My teeth were clinched and dragging along my feet I made my way up the paisley covered silk pressed firmly on the wall.

[I didn’t mind that she had taken over the top drawer of my burgundy chest of drawers, I didn’t mind that I found her panty-hose draped about my table lamps and the backs of my chairs. In fact, it added to my manliness, it fit right in with my Winchester typewriter – half filled with mumblings I had managed to emit amidst the booze and fucking and freezing air that curled my lungs up into a gait so tight I forced my thoughts to relax the fingers on my mind]

But she was there, full naked visage to luxuriate my mind into a casual saunter amongst peacock feathers, top hats, rhinestones, and suits with chain watches and glittering eyes with too much joviality. I had no choice in this matter, not like I cared one damn bit about the mess she enjoyed making of my bed. She, like I, was full of eyes that pulsed – praying for something she didn’t know how to verbalize, a feeling she didn’t know how to mentalize, a desire she didn’t know how to materialize. Her eyes searched the bottom of empty tumblers, her eyes found the cobwebs reaching out for life, her eyes danced with the streams of light that flickered through the room catching elements of history that spread like the lost ghosts echoing through our minds.

We dove into our fury like lovers we’d always wanted to be. We pushed those warning thoughts to the backs of our minds so we could hardly lay trace casual thoughts that appeared on our tongues. Life was good like this, it lacked the severity of the dying grid that forced mothers to sell their children for some sweet pudding and a souvenir to take home and place so thoughtfully on the pathetic mantle of desire’s dream. Neither of us was following this path, nor ever dreamed we would, for it was a withering dream fed by fat pockets, a machine that mimic’d zoo-keepers begging city council for more tax money to feed the wild and elusive buffalo they hunted for pass-time with foreign dignitaries.

V

I crawled out from that room and tip-toed down the wooden hallway laid flat with fading rose carpet that left spaces between it’s dying glory and that crushing 90 degrees up. Striped wall paper marked unevenly by portraits of bygone entrepreneurs.

[this is what we had taken to calling those devils who thought nothing of selling their souls for profit, that crude and lewd crowd that scantilized fashions and sourced the inner most pleasures of human soul. Even animals treasured the pure delight and unrelenting pursuit this basket-case crowd so freely expressed]

From the roof hung cob-webbed chandeliers bought at the nickel-and-dime store half a block away. “They look good,” is all we could say every time we traced these steps, giggling to ourselves. We didn’t care, our world didn’t depend upon such trivial matters of the outside world, of such trivialities so coveted by the people we laughed ourselves to sleep about. Gutteral expressions that splashed around the ivory colored ceramics.

I thought deeply about the sound of my wooden healed shoes echoing around my mind’s voice, shifting glances and kindling old romances while strutting with poise. I winked and nodded back to the gaping voids, the children of my finesse. I am neatly hand drawn, sculpted with imagination, created with the artful eye that dares to draw outside the lines.

[but oh, I thought about the land I came from. The cold street corners with auto-mo-biles and two-bit barber-inos, with fancy ladies strutting on knockoff stilettos practicing their how-ya-doin looks. Nostalgia is a soft sword when it piques the tendons of your heart]

VI

I never knew to meet her, but I always met her there. I always stopped and stared and waited until she could find me through the haze. She knew it too – she confessed one intimate night – all smiles and flutters and oh-yes-it’s-him stares. I liked those moments, letting it sink in, letting the leaves fall to the ground after upsetting them in air. Without fail, a smile the spread into a softly blown kiss so thick I could breathe it in and heavily let it curse through my veins. This was the tingly moments I came to love and learn.

I found casually my sorted seat, to file away my thoughts. A square-topped desk with hash marks set deep within its long history as a peacemaker, a romance kindler, an easy ledge upon which to sit as orders filled the air. It wasn’t so big that I could harbor much company and still keep my affairs in order, so luckily I carried my leather bound estate about to sort up my rapport – so easily spread about the square that I’d begun to call my post.

[visitors were few in such an office – as much as my notoriety was known – though they did come and disturb my thought in the heat of its best battles. The drunken fools who’d had too much were often such throwers of folly, but hardly I, who’d set up here, could curse them what they’d bear]

[note: to read full epic follow dragging left wing]

Collar (day 844)

Loosening my collar as I walk up to the spotlight
Hushed vibrations filter through my being
I take a slow breath and look around at expecting faces
Their nervous teeth chattering back at me
Catching my gaze one by one like capital letters
Each their own little religious Icon in my speechless air
Hanging as if suspended in Grandma’s hallway

Forgiveness setting me free while I exhale my contempt
That piece of me that eats away at my conscience
Making me the miscarriage, the flaw

Do you know where I came from today?

I shiver at the thought that even just one of you
Had watched me as I sat shaking in the back corner
Down in dusty nether regions of Carrall and Hastings
My glance glittering like mother’s shiny silverware
My coffee sitting idle: half full – I’m an optimist
Huddled over pages of pages I’ve worked hard at keeping un-wrinkled
Unsuccessfully
Glancing over words that mean little to me now
Figuring every vowel is missing diaeresis
And scribbling on napkins to avoid appearing unorganized
As I spill out my verbatim…

Loosening my collar

Unbuttoning my top button and juggling the microphone
Sinking into a low growl that catches their attention
Chocolatey smooth I say, a lover’s dream
A paradise of low frequencies that shift tailbones
Reckoning based on incalculable numbers

Train station brown brick and mortar stares back at me
From behind the crucifixions waiting nervously
For a brief moment dust settles
Literally, the sun-lit dust beams get lost
In a sea of hovering beer mugs and uneven chairs

Don’t worry. Don’t get nervous sitting there
Reading between the lines and expecting fears
This isn’t a bad ending to a dull day
This is just a well mannered man dressed to satisfy
Piqued desires of the elegant class one starched collar at a time
Unfolded liner notes with immaculate white spaces
This is a jaunt down Water Street with a Hastings attitude
This is a spitting collar loosened

Ambition’s Race (day 819)

It is not I who shelter your conscience from the bitter truth of denial
It is not my sword that slays last hopes in fitful cries about bloody battle grounds
It is not my spells which sheath truth to avoid speaking amongst those who whisper wrongs by name
Nor is it the timbstrels who dance around the spoils of victory
That shake the knees of that noble fervor so deeply rooted in passions teeth
It is the lofty words of treachery and treason that curse the steeds of ambition’s race

In Your Teeth (day 805)

I’ve been watching you shift the ever blurring lines that hold society in check
Taking them in your teeth and letting the camera capture your raw moments of sex
I want to understand what it’s like to plan this desire like a premeditated killer
Drinking tea over strewn socks and dirty magazines in a black and white image

I never thought I’d hold your hand walking down this hall
Penis stuck between your legs and there isn’t even any kissing
I’m not sure I understand the lines being blurred here
For they exist singularly in figments of imaginations
Directed by lines of square adults and their best intentions for children

I’ve been watching you shift the ever blurring lines that hold society in check
As you walk away veiled in a cloak of mastermind and glitter
I’m not sure the intention towards my understanding and which end is right
But this is my effort to blur my own lines of this never ending puzzle