Chaotic dictators fly farther
into a discordance
that follows a narrow
ill harmed attempt
at a beginning concordance
in a time
that never should have been.

Fascist leader
Tarry Schmidt
told admiring sycophants
there are no issues to work out
when the reaper comes calling;
and his sister, Nantifinia,
acknowledged that indeed
things are grim.

But national socialists
say they are close
to hammering out
the grounded bones
of dissent
and soon the details
won’t be relevant
because we’ll all be dead.

The sun glances off the rock
and leaves it shimmering
reflections of an ancient past.

In the outlines of a cliff
I can see a thousand faces
old and craggy
all blurring together
a buried treasure
deep inside
that drives me to it
leading me downwards
towards the heat
where I’ll find it,
a way out of here.

– matt at shadow of iris

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[Last two verses inspired by Peter Gric.]

A queen folds her hands
behind her head
and strikes a pose
in front of a monolith;
she’s a ghost
covered in strands of fog
that bind her
out there where the earth
is so hot beneath
that just above
it is cracking.

Showering
before a cheering crowd
naked as a jaybird
bringing pressure to bear
she comes
shouting up at me
like the devil’s spawn
straight out of hell,
not even a towel
wrapped around her tush
or even a tattoo
poking her long nails into my chest
small pokes
that sink deep
even as the mass audience
roars and says
the time for talk
is over.

– matt at shadow of iris

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[Inspired by the work of Peter Gric.]

Hold back nothing
ambiguously
each word
falling from you
a drop of mist
in the middle of
a downpour.

– matt at shadow of iris

Your elegant form
right before me
a target for my desire
libido directed
outward
yet even now
you are breaking apart
into string theory
shrapnel of what you once were
leaving an outline
of an exquisite body
still provocative enough
to drive me mad
yet I see through you now
as kittenishly you lean forward
accentuating your well endowed proportions
gentle swells that set you apart
as your hands spread
and you lay them gently
upon darkness and light
positive and negative
your mind scattering
a web of veins
that fades into black cloudy smoke
and disappears into a vast horizon
I have as of yet failed to see.

A released video message
offering condolences
for people casting their ballots
as mortar rounds and bombs
shake them down there
where the unemployment generates shudders
and those of principle have little connection
with reality.

– matt at shadow of iris

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[Inspired by the work of Peter Gric.]

Tomorrow
a new word will arrive
packaged carefully
with an exotic stamp
pasted
in the upper right-hand corner.

– matt at shadow of iris

In the wee early mornings
on the hottest nights
of that summer that never ended
when everyone on the farm
was fast asleep
the oldest daughter
with her wide blue eyes
and long black hair
would take off every stitch of her clothing
and steal away into the darkness
to a hidden grove
where her secret love awaited;
an amorphous stump
a short twisted form
with thick gnarled roots
and a tiny green eye;
she’d crouch down
and hug that little troll
tenderly
then leaning in
and putting her left ear near
she’d listen to the murmurs,
jumping rope without ropes
playing soccer without goals
praise that falls from lips
as easy as spittle and spit
you let me be
as I fell deeper
down into myself
a thousand voices
and none that cared
each one a babble
a should and a have and a surrender
I’ve been through alien abductors
and old hags
but I’m still waiting
for that gentle touch
and you to say
that I am not
alone.

– matt at shadow of iris

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[Inspired by the work of Esao Andrews.]

Small words
on the edge of a sentence
drifting in one direction first
but then taking an unexpected
twist
and leading you down
a tunnel
where as of yet
there is no light.

– matt at shadow of iris

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Lean back
and let it happen;
take it in
and hold it
while you breath slowly –
wait and watch
as the truth explodes
into glimmering stars
that leave indistinct trails
across still air
brightening pocket shadows
you never knew were there.

– matt at shadow of iris

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Holding still
and watching words
drift past me
each one wrong
and worse
slippery.

– matt at shadow of iris

She’s a frail thing
very thin
very old
stooped over
and slow moving
but nestled there among the wrinkles
through her crunched up little face
her eyes still shine.

– matt at shadow of iris