Big Easy

Barging in through narrower than necessary ports
And bays, the locks fail to protect
The unprepared citizenry for the impending flood
Of indignities and revelations.

Corrupted by a sense of security—unjustified by
History and made subservient to nature—
Truths with which nobody is rightly equipped to deal
Destroy and wash away

The swarthiness and inconsistent haughtiness
That informs a hollow chain
Commanded rightly from afar, uncommanded
Rightly from afar.

Rushing in on steel-clad barges, blown by fate,
By nature, by the very nature of
Destruction, the floods destroy and cleanse
The soul of decadence.

Cooing

I’m nothing but an albino
Pigeon:
Head cocked and cocking,
Scavenging for crumbs.

Proud as a peacock am
I:
Though I forage beneath
Your feet and coo.

Sometimes I’ll gobble like a
Turkey:
To confuse the passers-by,
But don’t really fool them.

All the other pigeons hate me—
Jealous:
‘Cause they know I’m better
And sometimes pass for a dove.

Atlas

A table and four chairs,
Twenty legs together.
No ground, no reason, no logic,
Just legs: Just legs.

No soul, no heart, no head,
No arms to hold
No hands to touch.

Existent in the capacity
To hold that which
Can be touched, held;
Can touch, hold.

Twenty legs that promise
To hold the world
On their thighs.