SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

Poetry And The Ignorance Is Not Mine

It's easy to see now. If you guys want me to whip out my credit card (so you can get your cut), you need to be able to recognize:


Water Symphony

A lake symphony set to begin,
my ears cleared by green bassos,
single notes gulp an opening silence.

Brown minstrels grasp surface air,
whoosh water, vacuum twilight wings
skittering a surface to escape.

Pinholes in an ultraviolet horizon
gasping, last rays angle, strike
the silvery surface below.

On my shore, lawn chair erect,
violinists in the green pit harmonize
instruments in unison, lay
undiscovered, build a sound-bed
consuming ears harvesting
a cacophony of familiar notes.

Eyes trust a rising moon clear-cutting
a path to the dock, stretching
across dimpled water illuminated.

A water symphony punctuates.
Glistening, dark cellos splash-snap,
splash-snap a delicacy of movement.

Metal creak of this woven seat, finite!
I ease back, wonder if this calm
allows a mind to dream, forget
mosquitos masqueraded arrival
for an unexpected banquet,
preparing me to pay with my flesh.


I try to tell myself everyday there are competent people out there, in here. That there are decent people. Feels like I have to hold up a fistful of bills to get attention. Producing content that draws in fools like me is the sad irony.

I've said it before, I get better at my craft in spite of the ignorance. People said my honesty when I used to review was negative, though it was objectively truthful, and just my opinion. And, I'm getting sick of this, what's going on right now. If we're going down this road, then I can take the kid gloves off again.