~soon after the turn of the century~
~Quodlibet won the Marija Cerjak award~~for avant-garde/experimental writing~
~Quodlibet was then published by Howling Dog Press in its Omega series. The entire epic piece will be available in print from Howling Dog with graphic art by the author 2012/2013~
~daddy called her angel~
~she danced around in circles~
~piggy tails bouncing~
~voice singing with the radio~
~I can’t get no~
~satisfaction~
~tripped into a table~
~broke momma’s favorite lamp~
~so momma administered~
~some corporal punishment~
~bottom lip protruding~
~arms folded in front of her~
~big four-year-old eyes full of tears~~she ran to daddy in the driveway~
~why’s my momma such a bitch~
~he lifted a tear from her cheek~
~hell honey angel~
~I don’t know~
~she hugged his leg~
~can I sit on your harley~
~so she did~
~snuggled into the sissy bar~
~she snuffled a bit~
~favored daddy with a smile~
~thought to herself~
~I ain’t no angel~
~grace on one hand~
~smooth as silk~
~spider milk~
~anger shifting~
~changeling~
~she was possessed of~
~XVIII. latent latitudes~
~so mystery is dark~
~yet lies pale upon that face~
~both lively & sorrowful~
~she wears ribbons~
~falling from a nest of hair~
~whose branches display dignity~
~a tin twinkle of passion~
~impossible twists of irony~
~aspire to reach the sky~
~where dreams are torn fresh falling~
~colors laughing~
~some terrible breeze~
~a prayer away from those~
~a wing~
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WordWulf
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©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
~there’s an angry carpenter building~
~a table without any legs~
~a mother teaching her children~
~to fetch, sit up & beg~
~the dogs of night make a prayer~
~for the lady without any hands~
~as she applauds the one-legged preacher~
~who left his parts in old Viet Nam~
~the little drug angel darlings~
~stare into the guns of the raid~
~& the children under the table~
~bless their hearts... Esplanade~
~you will never know where I’m going~
~until your feet taste paths I have been~
~a tear & a cup overflowing~
~sins of the lost captain’s men~
~I wonder if I might find purchase~
~a brick or a ring in the wall~
~a coffin to hang on forever~
~to hear the great sparrow’s call~
~there’s a chorus of blind singing patriots~
~flying a song without wings~
~they may lose their direction~
~they will never forget how to sing~
~she is an opening flower~
~a path for the living parade~
~lay down in her soft bed of roses~
~to bleed... ah sweet Esplanade~
~may be the gods do not see them~
~may be the gods’ eyes are blind~
~there is no end to their praying~
~for surely the gods must be kind~
~& they hide away from the madman~
~who tells them they are betrayed~
~he waits for the full moon to take him~
~then he howls, howls... Esplanade~
~dead poets speak through their silence~
~they whisper “return nevermore”~
~a child looks in the mirror~
~wonders, ‘why the hell was I born~~some one has slain all its warriors~
~tortured the king of its soul~
~mother and father are preying~
~in the bar room for pots of its gold~
~life is the constant reminder~
~death, the warrior who waits~
~fate owns the face in the mirror~
~the key to the lock on its gate~
~so have you noticed her freedom~
~the laughter behind all her lies~
~where chaos & order go dancing~
~& only chaos survives~
~I walked the shores of her oceans~
~soft & cold & afraid~
~followed the paths of her creatures~
~cross her vast expanse... Esplanade~
~I have tasted the breath of her seasons~
~her bitter root & sweet wine~
~& though I know she is wounded~
~I seek her like something divine~
~as I approach her wound I am kissing~
~the blood drops her suffering made~
~my feet caressing her footsteps~
~my lips whisper... “Sweet Esplanade”~
~she lays her pain out before me~
~the soft ragged edge of her truth~
~I lick the scent of her fire~
~with the misguided tongue of my youth~
~the scars are written upon me~
~from sleeping too close to the wound~
~skin so easily broken~
~on this eggshell side of the moon~
~& the tides are breaking forever~
~on a sweet violin never played~
~where only warriors are dancers~
~on the last grass... Esplanade~
~I’m breaking bread with the serpent~
~making love with the mice~
~there’s a game I play with the devil~
~betting against loaded dice~
~& I die at the end of my prayer~
~my face breaks the earth unafraid~
~your heavy stones on my body~
~I whisper... “Sweet Esplanade”~
~I have drunk myself into stupid~
~sung her praises through my whiskey breath~
~for the tender peace of her body~
~the long-suffering pain of her death~
~I keep a piece of her soul in my pocket~
~& I sleep with her every night~
~I hear the wind through the willows~
~& kiss her lips when we fight~
~but a beggar has set her on fire~
~for a ransom that will not be paid~
~a thief has stolen her jewels~
~she suffers it well... Esplanade~
~there is a ghost haunting my castle~
~she cries, I think I know why~
~her heart is ten thousand times broken~
~she tries, they won’t let her die~
~so she crawls in my bed of an evening~
~struggles to keep me awake~
~I find myself reaching for her~
~hungry for the love we could make~
~courage lies under the blanket~
~the windows are dirty inside~
~you cannot see through a mirror~
~just going along for the ride~
~she is all, she is all that exists~
~make myself naked & wade~
~follow her down ‘til eternity passes~
~she is all, she is all... Esplanade~
~all tangled up in my covers~
~afraid of the dark & the day~
~I wait ‘til she comes to hold me~
~& chase my darkness away~
~then I lay at her breast like an infant~
~suckled & cozily warm~
~she covers my seed with the earth of her body~
~to shelter me from the storm~
~I drink her milk & I bite her~
~feeding upon her the same~
~I call her triangular mother~
~& know her by no other name~
~with her blood & milk on my muzzle~
~I cry in the mess I have made~
~she wraps me in flowers & powders my ass~~she is all, she is all... Esplanade~
~I live in a box in the attic~
~measure my space two by two~
~drag myself out for holiday weekends~
~& photograph pictures with you~
~maybe I’ll take you there with me~
~touch with my hands in the dark~
~which one is which~
~I get so damned confused~
~like a child playing with cards~
~the best of the times I am rolling~
~in fields of flowers & shade~
~watching the children as they start their journey~
~into her heart... Esplanade~
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WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
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©graphic artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
~soon after the turn of the century~
~Quodlibet won the Marija Cerjak award~
~for avant-garde/experimental writing~
~Quodlibet was then published by Howling Dog Press in its Omega series. The piece will be available in print from Howling Dog with graphic art by the author 2012/2013~
~jewels in her tiara~
~spider children~
~dreams astound her~
~she holds it in until~
~breathless~
~she is startled awake~
~no one notices~
~but her day is coming~
~she saw ghosts dancing~
~knows full well what that means &~
~XVII. just like father~
~she demands fair measure~
~what comes owing as her own~
~holds it out against her~
~is appalled by father’s ignorance~
~the thick skin of his span of years~
~but warmed by the embrace of her man~
~quite fearful at deeper levels~
~a creeping awareness~
~of the need to compare them~
~her pain is a shield~
~she covets her jewels of children~
~grace on one hand~
~smooth as silk~
~spider’s milk~
~anger shifting~
~changeling~
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
~hear them gathering~
~ebon wings aflutter~
~they peck dreams from the eyes of the dead~
~darklings & spider things~
~hop-strutting~
~carcass to carcass~
~irreverent~
~devilish & amused~
~at what passes for life~
~& death~
~as if there is a difference~
~crow~
~its black voice~
~caw caw caw~
~it sees him through the window~
~“go away!” he cries~
~“leave me now this midnight hour!”~
~its head, a swivel thing~
~follows his descent~
~the concrete walls of the cellar~
~veins protruding~
~he hears a thick~
~liquid fluid drip~
~as he walks into a web~
~his hands claw at his face~
~web film on his lips~
~something crawls down~
~the back of his shirt~
~the pull string light bumps his nose~
~his hand follows~
~but he cannot find it~
~he stumbles blindly~
~to the other side of the room~
~clawing at his spider shirt~
~until it is torn away~
~he feels needles~
~spider steps~
~skitter across his skin~
~“webs, webs!” he howls~
~rolls over on the floor~
~alive, his naked skin crawls~
~he covers his ears, closes his eyes~
~the horror sound will not go away~
~a gurgle liquid deep~
~emanates from somewhere within him~
~he sneaks an eye open~
~a faint light is revealed~
~madness held at bay~~he crawls toward it~
~on his knees, hands raised~~over his head reaching~
~saliva~
~he giggles at his gurgle~
~through the moonlit pane of glass~
~her black voice~
~caw caw caw~
~she sees him through the window~
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WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
~here one minute~
~gone the next~
~my youngest son creates clone videos~
~snaps characters in with his fingers~
~amazing to watch his work on you tube~
~zoodious he calls himself~
~I have seen many people snap out~
~very few snap back~
~before we are aware we are…~
~gathering descent~
~porch light in the afternoon~
~neighborhood covenant~
~golden leaves falling~
~rustling beneath the breeze~
~raspy sound~
~ventilator~
~respirator~
~breathing underwater~
~is he in there~
~the man~
~my brother~
~that husk lain open~
~wiggly feet~
~puffy fists of hands~
~straining against restraints~
~sky eyes looking~
~down on me~
~through bare branches~
~of late autumn~
~Colorado~
~brother’s eyes wide~
~vacant~
~beseech me~
~look through me~
~into some nether void~
~opiate~
~celestial~
~angels & demons~
~surround us~
~we are~
~discovered at last~
~jettisoned~
~golden the fall~
~the full moon~
~its attendant star~
~how decades altar~
~their appearance~
~in our sight~
~our human blindness~
~animal desires~
~bestial delights~
~diminished~
~our steps shortened~
~halting breath~
~the sureness of youth~
~leaking away~
~bloodless & aging~
~we stand~~we barely stand~
~remember the path~
~moss on stones~
~our fascination with shadow~
~conversations~
~hollow whispers now~
~that we were mere~
~& powerful shadow images ourselves~
~we were so wrong~~but there along the way~
~certain to be eclipsed~
~by our children~
~grandchildren~
~deep canyon smoke~
~echoes in your eyes~
~tell me we walked~
~in tall strides~
~in some small~
~insignificant way~
~we were right~
~& brave to do so~
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
~from suicide to dinner~
~a creature’s lusts & appetites~
~are blood/vein connected to its actions & deeds~
~the human beast is likely to seek groups~
~attribute & blame its behavior on peer pressure~
~decisions by committee~
~coven, church, or career~
~outlaws & ceo’s~
~heroes & miscreants~
~pod peas alike~
~self-serving~
~public opinion~
~a moronic collective~~the philosophy of fools~
~III. Bone-deep/Alone~
~whom seeks to please everyone~
~errs miserably in due course~
~ultimately~
~embraces a pen-ultimate failing~
~possible loss of self~
~& that wandering peace~
~becomes a tone~
~a whimper~
~a sounding~
~bone-deep~
~who am I kidding ~
~what if we are found alone~
~the tiniest bit of wanting~
~verification of goodness~
~all doubt left behind~
~finally okay to be this way~
~such are all paths leading home~
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WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©Quodlibet was published by Howling Dog Press
~a thin man stepped into the cafe~
~neat & snappy~
~stiff of gait he stopped~
~his head hardly turned~
~as he took in his surroundings~
~marked a table & went to it~
~straightened its four chairs~
~place settings & napkins~
~took a step back & scrutinized his work~
~a waitress stood behind him~
~arms akimbo, head tilted to the side~
~he sat down in arm & leg stick units~
~set his hat table center~
~touched its brim in precise movements~
~unaffected by the impatient woman~
~when the hat was positioned to his satisfaction~
~he nodded to the waitress~
~his thin lines of lips did not move~
~she poured him a cup of coffee~
~set two bottles of Tabasco on the table~
~fixed him with a one-eyed stare~
~shook her head & walked away~
~he fiddled with the coffee cup~
~lined it up dead center~
~his side of the table~
~between the bottles of tabasco~
~he squared his shoulders~ ~proceeded to get down to business~
~he drank his coffee black~
~half a bottle of fire in each cup~
~much as I wanted to watch the final act~
~the crescendo of his virtuoso performance~
~surely an introduction to a grand finale~
~I had to answer nature’s call~
~a man’s weaknesses cause him to miss the best parts~
~the thin man was gone~
~the waitress refused to say a damned thing about him~
~but I was sure~
~he was not glad in his cups~
~he was sad in his cups~
~actions speak~
~suicide is a dream~
~all beings keep~
~the weak ones name it nightmare~
~the strong ones~
~who are they~
~whose name is a whisper~
~a jane/john doe promise~
~an acclimation~
~investigators decide~
~whom peek under the pall~
~voyeurs & fools~
~which is which~
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WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
~the bell rings~
~we march off to church~
~momma said get on the bus~
~the bell sounds~
~we turn our spoons over~
~the screws count them before~
~they return us to our cells~
~toot-toot goes his horn~
~the bartender boss~
~bouncers ready~
~eager to bounce you out on your ass~
~last call you crazy bastards~
~it’s been a hound's age since I used an alarm clock~
~time lords~
~hell~
~ain’t that easy~
~who are you woman~
~your batman face~
~runnin’ down your eyes~
~I went to bed with a queen~
~woke up with a prisoner~
~you never know~
~who you’ll wake up to~
~when you close your eyes~
~mirror~
~you are a liar~
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WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
~I saw a bunch o’ citizens~
~doing “the crawl” on a downtown street~
~it was skid-row when I was rockin’ & rollin’~
~now they call it lodo~
~cops erect chain-link barriers~
~to protect the rich drunks~
~firemen spray their puke off the pavement~
~what the hell difference does it make~
~who wins a baseball game~ ~fell victim~
~once the big city night~
~travels your veins~
~you are prostitute~
~slave to its unions~
~no jesus~
~no mary~
~to save you~
~to enslave you~
~your appetites fuel~
~a destiny~
~a compulsion~
~to self destruction~
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WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
~the problem is~
~well they are numerous~
~but the man who comes to save us~
~is the one momma lies to daddy about~
~the one we lie to momma about~
~hell he touches us all~
~in every private place~
~he is a devil in our flesh~
~a parasitical worm in our brain~
~a spirit devouring energy sponge~
~death cannot be so dark as this~
~he rode a tall horse~
~until it bolted & ran away~
~I saw it once in a cloud~
~he won’t let us look up anymore~
~all he wants us to see~
~is down here~
~is right there~
~XVI. Galloping Sin~
~hunter gatherer~
~destroyer we~
~fall prey to gluttonous appetites~
~lust; the broken wing, desire~
~folds a stilted bone against~
~the breast of breast of~
~father provides~
~no succor to innocents~
~meet in low dim night spaces~
~earthen floor scattered about~
~dust motes lined down under the bed~
~tied to the butt crack adulterer~
~naked & throat full of blood~
~threatening gulp~
~sneeze denied~
~tied to the feet of horses drowning~
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
published by Howling Dog Press
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