~Zephyr Incidental~

01/14/2012

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~she exists as a wisp~
~promise ~
~muse~
~a fast train rushing~
~its wind tunnel throat~
~backdoor thundering tornado~
~smoke & fire~
~unaware of his eyes ~
~what it means~
~muse~
~she dances into his sight~
~the zephyr blows her away~


~Zephyr Incidental~ 

~just beyond his hearing~
~her nuance spirit whispered~
~entranced, he paused to listen~
~as one hears angels, did he~
~close his eyes, dissolve his senses~
~allow her purchase on the tender-wall~
~that fantastic realm of being~
~deep inside & long untouched~
~wide-eyed & watchful as near-prey~
~at the approach of a new stranger~
~he was gifted & no predator she~

~whom paints clouds on the groundswell~
~invites a visage of heaven~
~into the everyday burrows of life~
~where gypsies & nomads all~
~a procession of high-stepping minstrels~
~wander the path of the last troubadour~
~his verses alive on trade-winds ~
~the limits of continents ignore~
~voices a-hum at the cradle~
~are the whispering mothers of life~
~angelic visions from the bottom of the well~

~it is difficult for flat-line thinkers~
~to imagine the circle of life~
~the undeniable & beautiful sameness~
~of shadows, cradle & grave~
~whose love owns the heart of a poet~
~may at once be blest & damned~
~a witness participant to ecstasy~
~exalted in the light of his words~
~a fall-me-down, pick-me-up dancer~
~whose idylls create & destroy~
~the otherwise past & undone~


http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
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~Eye of the Cat~

11/11/2011

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~Eye of the Cat~

~life is manageable~
  ~problems diminished~
  ~when she employs her ability~
  ~to connect & receive~
  ~images through her familiar~
  ~hinge theory established~
  ~precise & momentous~
  ~mind without its human cage~
  ~joined & engaged~
  ~in the art of stranger~

http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
  Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com & wordwulf@wordwulf.com
  © artwork & words conceived by & property of
  Tom (WordWulf) Sterner ©
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~Cave Jams/Suicide Promises~

10/23/2011

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~trees through the window~
~shaking medusa heads~
~the snake is long~
~seven miles~
~a rich woman’s son stole his songs Doris~
~the monster Zarathustra~
~put your head between your legs~
~kiss your ass goodbye~
~for the love of a woman~
~Nazi disguise~
~boots & lies~
~mad synthesis~
~Poe, Nietzsche, Morrison, Manson, & me~

~Cave Jams/Suicide Promises~

Remember me in your days to come as the man of seven summers.  Your words and girlish excitement ignited a frightful explosion in my heart.  A bowl of strawberries and a beautiful woman, I had no idea what they meant.  In the forever of my life they will wear your name. 

Sorrow is a tempter, a loaded gun.  Loss is the finger on the trigger.  Equanimity demands sanity, equilibrium.  Being sane and sensible drives me crazy.  The inmates are running the asylum, arming our children and stealing our faces.  I am a mad beast howling at road signs. 

When night pulls its masque o’er my face it is ten ton terrible to be alone.  The monsters in my brain are afraid.  They send minnows out through my eyes to chew holes through the fabric of darkness.  Life is a flesh-tone shroud we wear to fool the mirror and the face of death. 

There is a place where only we go, you and me, woman.  When I am away from you as I am now and go to that place I am not so lonely.  Though alone, it is good to always know that you are there for having been there, never far away for the same reason. 

The churchman has opened his door.  Its shaft of light divides my face.  He chooses sides against me to support his religion, a proprietary bent toward you as if he hails from a house of Lords.  Fear owns the loose juice of my bowels, the price I’d pay to do what must be done with him. 

I favor songs about hearts of stone, the impenetrable forest, man’s id of trees pounding his breast and stomping his feet, howling epithets against the feral night.  You step nimbly through the seven of my senses, frail and quick-footed, nude dancer.  Woman, you are a twelve pound hammer. 

http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com & wordwulf@wordwulf.com
© artwork & words conceived by & property of Tom (WordWulf) Sterner ©
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~Music the Winter Moon Invites~

10/10/2011

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~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: V~ 

~birds at the sepulcher~
 ~black wing twisted waistcoats~
~looking through the window~
~her lover disturbed him~
~a dead one-eyed stair~
~climb me up quick~
~don’t wanna drown alone~
~the semen dream~
~bathtub coffin~

~Music the Winter Moon Invites~  

My brother called me a liar.  Some days he knows me better than I have strung words around my throat.  One day I might just jump off this planet.  I feel like the moon owns me.  Fearful of water, I am drawn to tides.  The drowning man contemplates suicide. 

If hell existed, this would be it you know.  I’m hiding in the body of my former self, telling it no, refusing it succor.  The woman it loved is poised and ready to bury her fangs and rip off its head.  Some folks are too ignorant to be afraid.  They become the next brave victims. 

We made noise like cannibals, aborigines in the desert pounding dry sticks against hollow stones.  Drug lions pounced from under cars, stole away the children from our used to be.  He has a live puppet for a wife and a corpse for a bed mate. 

Wondering as I pull the winter moon down to my eyes that they may yet be drawn to it without her at my side, the sky reach of our seek.  Will she share it with a new stranger while I fade from her heart, disappear from her dreams.  I truly dread the end of winter.  Summer lightning without her will rip through my heart. 

Children with your sidewalk wagons come rolling down to meet me.  There is nothing in the world like their laughing, its absolute synchronicity with my being.  Bells, bells, do you hear them peeling, peeling.  Where the church spiders live, my eyes follow them alone and no one sees. 

Tomorrow the ten-penny city awaits.  Counters mete out the coin of the realm.  In the shadow of the woman stands a boy, his face a face I have come to love.  His father devours and I must run away because and before he swallows them both.  She will not have me; there is nowhere left to hide. 

http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com & wordwulf@wordwulf.com
© artwork & words conceived by & property of Tom (WordWulf) Sterner ©
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