A Broken Scholar...

rancid sighs of a broken scholar,
brandished mockery as a crown -
nerves mined for tributes,
in stale anthologies of frowns.

this soul's a dead man's photograph,
a band of lesser angels in frame.
chose a body to die with and
rode the subtle wood with immortal ones.

wrote a book named 'My Tombstone',
moled furrows in my bones, saying:

'Marry at your prime the follies of yester-years, and
squander your excess peers with all trapped gains and fears'.

Theorem #76

My heart's pillars glow at the threshold to my mind's arena, and
leaves dance a sizzle on branches.
A fellow ignites the machine rage of a fork lift, and
the stench of tarmac glazes the distant shimmer at noon.
The splendour of a winter's sky hovers,
bludgeons shadows into pores of concrete slabs;
and a slim wind dries up its flight, what mud on my soles, we ask?

Last rains of night's mist fold my shell for warmth -
and the night's bed is warmed by the day's fiery pulse.

A Poem Fogged by Reminiscence

when ghosts laugh
showing molars of brass;
clouds scatter
and Dracula's scream crawls fungal in our vase.

let your clown cry for a change,
and when adolescents burn bushes in their minds,
shoot a pie and never miss the homeless
when downpours get the traffic into a frenzy.

another pillow fight with a dream -
we will harvest these raindrops once;
the sky's manure roots the crops, and
lets their rainbow's leaves in the sunlight gleam.