split

My dragons and my wind
Up and over the treetops and away from me
What would you ask the moon?
Dark wood oak doors stand closed
Locked shuttered rusted hinges
Dusty curtains on the corn tops
Withdraw upon grinning
Done, done, all is done
All is done to dusk
               ~*~
I follow my smile from corner to corner
Skating on a razor edge
With little points twinkling
I don't believe my laugh lines
They are here to lead me astray
And down the path of complacency
My expressive shield and sword
Prevent all approaches
But the most unaware
The fools and jesters who would fall headlong into volcanoes
I cannot lower my defenses

muffled

If at one time I thought my heart would break
Without your presence to give it shape
I have been proved wrong
My heart is slow and dull and painless
But it is not in pieces
It seeks nothing and noone
Except perhaps some solitude and quiet
It does not extend itself to warmth or care
It remains in its cave, dark and empty
Cushioned in numbness, it withdraws from any spike of feeling
It will hibernate, insulated, wrapped in the felt of danger
And never be bare again

Slug

I have a friend called Slug.  It's not his real name, of course, that's just what we all came to call him.  Slug suffers from a very rare, very terrible, degenerative disease that has caused all his bones to slowly disintegrate beginning at the onset of puberty.  Fortunately, the destruction of his skeleton was so gradual that certain operations could be performed, allowing him some semblance of an inner structure.  While it was deemed necessary for his skull to first be reinforced and finally completely replaced with a tough plastic shell, his body is now kept upright by a system of air-filled bladders, each painstakingly inserted under his skin, with their little valves for topping up at his joints.  Sometimes as a prank, somebody would switch his air tank for one full of helium.  The first time, poor Slug hit the roof.  After that, he always made sure to keep some weighty reading material around, just to keep his feet on the ground and his head out of the clouds.  He was once heard to remark that it was actually easier to drift off to sleep while under the buoyant influence of helium, but that was no excuse for people to go around sneaking these things on him.  Those air bladders lasted some years with no problem but the foreseeable air loss, which was fixable through the valves, but after a decade or so, their material began to degrade.  Slug began to suffer embarrassing blowouts and breakages.  Sometimes he would be seen dragging himself around town with one limb limp and flat.  One dreadful night, he suffered a major air pressure loss while showering and the last anybody saw of him was what his roommate said was probably his left hand, spinning slowly as it followed the rest of his breathless body down the drain.  If he happens to surface from your plumbing, his friends would be most grateful for his return, to the extent of reimbursing postage.  Just be sure to make a couple of air holes in the box.

epic "haiku"

Over the red hills
Came riders we did not know
Their steeds made thunder
And clouds behind them.
They were bold under the light
Of a summer sun.
The riders were unkind.
They came not to visit or
For trade.  Their foul aim
Was dripping with blood.
Their shining swords were seen first
With little sun glints
While they were still far
And riding furiously
Down the hills, to town.
Their other decor-
-ations, spoils of other wars,
Began to be plain.
Dried hands and fingers
Waved hello and shooed off those
Who found themselves front
And center with this
Pack of bloodthirsty killers.
Scalps, long braids attached,
Swung violently too.
All too silent, these deathly
Trophies of winners.
Then we saw their teeth.
Cut sharp and filed pointy like
Fangs of snake or shark.
Little white sentries
To grind up invading meat
And let pass rivers.
That seemed like a good
Comparison after that,
When all had happened.
The riders came through
The town like a hurricane,
Tearing down every
Single thing that stood,
In a rush of violence
That none could foresee.
It surprised us all
With its ruthlessness and gore
And its fleeting
Presence through the town.
Almost as soon as we knew
It was there, it passed.
Some died.  Not only
At that moment, struck down by
Heartless, steely blows,
But also later
When their woulds turned black and stank
And their eyes went out.
The rest of us owe
Our lives and livelihood to
The hero who came
When we feared all was
Lost, a champion from the gods,
Blowing in like rain.
He came from the way
We go to the river with
His great sword, leading
Men as rough as trolls,
Who rode hairy ponies, with
Grim faces and sharp knives.
The riders had turned
To come through the town again
When they saw the force.
They attacked without
Hesitation and the great
Hero and his men
Fought them mightily.
Half were struck down and half fled.
The hero took naught
But the horses of 
The fallen; no gold or grain
From us whom he saved.