POETRY MAGICK: Deconstructor & The Owl Knows

Photography: Jeff Wolfe


Strip away the house of ideas.
The heavy apparatus of moving parts
breathe down our necks.

Each panel of thought mined until
we stand bare.
Children pulse w/ wisdom from within –
they are collected and reprocessed to

The machines listen and wait –
crimes of conversation whispered
w/ fear.

Eyes appear next door
and on the corners.

A piece of architecture
disappears each day.
Sign posts of something new appear
(some say it is old.)
But grandparents must take their leave
to a town of their own.

Sunset cast soldier shadows
to march our poor street.

Bolts thrown on every door.
Masked behind and huddled at a
universal dot com.
A treatment for each night settles in.

Less and less we know.
No reward to remember.
Better off to let die,
a box of numbers can

Promises sent from fiber optic wire
give the brain
easy sleep.

Little by little, truth was given away.
Here we are without what
they sold off.

Raids made against distention,
penetrate deep into
our hearts.

Carefully secure thoughts
that are written -
they find a way to leak out.

When the men come knocking
it’s already too late.


The slippage of secrets rattles our cage of comfort.
Dark impulses lurk, far from observance.
The innocent eyes, unprotected by time
- predator’s breath goes undetected.
Caves of unacceptable truth.

Our common deviations from the norm,
relieved by worse offenses.
Blissfully unaware how close danger creeps.

Suburban shades provide cover,
locks on business drawers.
Homes w/ hidden rooms.
Family boxes found by candlelight,
underneath blankets of warm cover.
Individual yearning compartmentalized
and filed away.

Private libraries of the mind,
find a way to surface and
escape under nocturnal passage.

Untold gatherers under the moon
whisper incantations to cleanse and purify.
A path in the woods leads to a grove.
The owl alleges proof - rendered into ash.

Unspeakable rituals only rarely caught.
Evidence left alone.
Codes uncommitted to paper -
passed down by bloodline.
Signals that explain
made in gesture and costume.

Agreements made to silence.
Pseudonyms taken on,
in practice of the cloaked faith.

Game symbols release power.
A circular dance of lunar barking.

Masks taken into daylight,
regular business resumes.

Winds move from woods to town.
Snow cover blows in, to submerge.
Structures of tomorrow unhinged,
drowned in the knowing.

1 comment:

  1. thanks



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