SUBMISSIVE IMAGINATION

SUBMISSIVE IMAGINATION
PM 1302175

The armies of Mordor are on the march,

I can hear the beating of the drums

on the other side of the mountains

and I know it is only a matter 

of time before the arrows reach here

and pierce my heart forever.

What strange manner of beasts and men

have come together, knife to knife,

spears glinting in the moonlight only

to leave me forsaken by the side of the

road?

Only now do I truly fear the reaper

and he laughs at me because

he has been around for a long time

and I could have easily avoided him

much earlier in the saga.

I cringe at the thought of sleep

yet I know the eternal sleep is the

only one left to me, I have shunned

mortal sleep and forgot how

to summon it from the depths.

The sky cannot possibly be this red

and as I look upon it I

recognize each lightning bolt as if

I had manufactured them in some

bizarre eastern factory.

There is much howling going on

and I can only hope that I will be

gone before I am eaten.

I think the horn has sounded

and the battle is heading into 

the final attack, the attack

that will require submission,

and soon afterwards, the end.

No tears left to cry for that,

lots of dismay and regret,

but no interest is evident.

Are those vultures circling high

above me or is it all in my imagination?

I can't tell anymore, I never knew 

the difference between a vulture

and a buzzard, and I don't know

if I have the time to look it up.

They can circle and circle,

high above me, they won't

come down until I am dead.

I must end it with my face to 

the ground so they don't gouge

out my eyeballs first,

nor do I want to see the talons,

swooping in to rip out a shred

of my flesh. I finally understand 

the meaning of

Eyes Wide Shut,

and the fear completes the 

circle around my soul as I try

to run on stumps,

my feet having been sawed off months ago.

MCC

DUCK SEASON

DUCK SEASON
PM 1302174

Sometimes it hurts to think,

I persevere as long as possible

and then I turn on the television.

Then my mind all but explodes, 

I see ducks walk out from

behind the credenza and the first

thing I have to wonder about is

what they were doing back there, 

were they foraging for food and

if so, what did they find?

Is there some sort of worm-hole

behind there leading to another dimension

that I don't know about, a dimension

inhabited by ducks and their clans

who have the foresight or the stupidity

to venture into the unknown?

Looking behind myself, I see nothing,

a smudge or two from where the

furniture was moved into place almost

five years ago and that's it.

No mysterious whirlpool or strange

light beckoning one to stick a finger in

there at the very least.

I try often but the ducks have

nothing to say to me, a slight

glance in my direction perhaps

and then single file they waddle

out the door, single minded in purpose

they hop onto the deck railing and

then fly due south, no matter 

what the season. I consider closing

the door so I can question them further

but I become too frightened,

what if they become hostile,

what if they have some sort of alien

weapon hidden in the eider?

I figure, leave them alone and they will

leave me alone. Strange, but they never

come back, is there another portal somewhere

that they use to get back to their

dimension, or is this how the world has

been populated with ducks? Do they know

that we eat them? Maybe the entrance

portal was in Beijing at one time but

they moved it when things became

too crispy for them?

Approximately twenty-five different

ducks pass through my living room

each year and I know nothing about

them, I could be responsible for the

start of some kind of intergalactic or 

inter-dimensional war, how can I be

sure? Unfortunately what can I do

about it? I don't like duck that much

and I could certainly never kill one 

and eat it for dinner.

I will have to wait for the sign and console myself

with the belief that if it looks like a duck.....

MCC

LAMPED

LAMPED
PM1302173

The soft whispers of days

gone by haunt me as I sleep

at night and I wonder how

they will ever be able to return

to me as I remember them.

I yearn to feel the existence

of something besides pain and

I don't cover the pain anymore,

it has become so resistant and it

mocks me as I aim to do battle 

with it.

The fronds of palm trees are waved

at me in my dreams yet I do not

feel their cool breeze, it is all

left to my imagination.

No quantity of peeled grapes, figs

or dates can quench my thirst

and the wine bypasses my throat

leaving me dry and parched.

I can no longer talk as

sometimes I fear I will crack

open and fill my esophagus with

blood and drown as I sleep.

The wind owls outside,

so harsh, loud and destructive,

frost accumulates in the cracks of

the walls and will turn to mold

come spring. I am not ready to

meet my maker yet he is

tapping on the window with his 

scythe, or perhaps it is just a

branch from the osier, blowing

in the wind and teasing me that

maybe there is no God.

Once again I fear even the little

children that are dancing in the

streets, maybe it is a war dance or

some other sort of death ritual that

I can't comprehend and I can't understand

if they are coming to me or not but

I must stay vigilant.

Each I see the headlights of

a car bounce across the wall of my

room I know they have come for

me, it can't just be another car passing

in the night, there aren't that many

people working midnights and I

would be so easy to find,

lying in bed watching Peachtree Television

they could see the reflection of the tv screen

in the mirror all the way from the street

below. One solitary bullet would be enough,

right in the centre of the forehead, one last

whimper before the trigger is pulled and

then I am quiet forever.

Where I am sitting now is so calm

and serene, but my mind always flies

away to some far off war zone.

MCC

CYPRUS GARDEN

CYPRUS GARDEN
PM 1302172

Back in a dream, I wrestled

with an alligator and it was 

winning, but just as it was

about to rip my arm to shreds

it disappeared as fast as it had

jumped out of my neighbors pool.

I searched in vain for the alligator

not sure if I wanted to wrestle with

it again or if I just wanted to be

certain that it had existed and it

wasn't all a dream.

Then, as always, I set out to

try and discover the meaning of

life which has been eluding me

for some time, well, for all of my

life at least. The highway always

seems to go on forever and I wish

there was a mountain at the end,

or a lighthouse, or even a pyramid,

something to strive for, a goal.

If it appeared that there was

something in the distance it wouldn't

be so hard to believe that I was 

actually trying to get somewhere.

The desert is hot and dry and I am

so thirsty, cow skulls and

tumbleweeds litter the landscape

like I was in an old western,

but I don't run into any horses,

John Wayne, or anyone else for that

matter.

Once in a while I will pass a pool,

the water will always be sparkling,

blue and refreshing and I long to strip

down and take a swim.

But I know from experience that the

water will disappear as soon as I immerse

a toe and I am left there, standing

naked in the middle of the desert. I

make it a point now never to take off

my clothes in a dream because they

often disappear and I am filled with

anxiety that I might suffer a rattlesnake

bite on softer skin.

Once I resume walking I usually

find myself dressed again without

even thinking about it and the clothes

are never different but they always

seem to be cleaner than they were

before.

Please, one day, I hope to have a

lighthouse at the end of my dream

road, I don't care how far it is in the

distance, or whether I am clothed or not,

all I want is a destination

to strive for and I think a solitary,

lonely lighthouse is just what I'm looking for.

MCC

BLUE RAGE

BLUE RAGE
PM 1302171

Death by boredom, I have

the ability to chase that one

away today and I cash that

cheque at the first bank I

pull up to.

It's dark, but I move with stealth

feeling the interiors of the walls

that are only familiar to my eyes

and not to touch.

But I can still remember most,

some parts of my brain have not

been affected and I can remember

the words to a song I heard as

long ago as 1972 as if I heard it

for the first time an hour ago.

One more wall to stretch my arms

across and I will be free,

a small hallway that leads to

the bedroom, I fall into bed

pass out, and hopefully when I 

come to it will be daylight or the

power will have come back on.

I hear the cat and the dog rustling

about, they missed me, but they

will have to wait until I get to

bed before I greet them, I don't

want to step on them by mistake.

We had left the bar in a hurry as

there had been a fight outside,

just a goofy kid who had been

let out for the first time and had

decided to make a fool out of himself.

One shot in the nose and it had

shattered beneath my fist, sending

a stream of blood shooting out one

nostril and splattering on the sidewalk.

I felt so bad, I hadn't wanted to hit

him that hard but it was as if he had

stepped forward into my fist and I had

made contact long before I had intended.

When I arrived home, bravado gone

and sleep rearing, the power was off

and the darkness was all pervading.

I managed the front door with help

of the car's headlights but was at

the mercy of my memory once I entered

the house.

Finally as my shin crashed into the

side of the bed I knew I was safe

and i dive into the sheets, asleep

before the waves stopped and as I

awoke the next morning I was happy

to see the alarm clock flashing on the 

night table.

Nothing was lost except my pride

when I noticed all the blood on my

knuckles and hands,

and a nice bruise on my shin where

I had crashed into the bed.

MCC

ROUGH TERRAIN

ROUGH TERRAIN

PM1302104

The thunderstorm the night

before tore through the town

waking all with pelting rain

and the drums of Heaven.

So much rain fell I awaited

 the bed to be swept away and as

I awoke with the sun I was

surprised to put my feet down on

a dry floor.

We left anyway, a small trip,

only planned a week before,

one hour out of town we

realized that the brunt of the

storm had passed by to the

north. Entire trees had been 

uprooted and fallen across

the highway and we had to weave

in and out, God had made us a

maze and challenged us to find the

food pellets at the end.

We drove for miles, in awe of the

devastation, secretly commending God

for his power and reinforcing the

belief that He is the ultimate power.

Half the gas stations had been closed

due to near destruction

and we stopped often, not wanting

to go below half just in case...

The birds flew overhead

and it seemed they could care less

about the damage that had been

done back here on earth.

I looked above as they circled,

laughing at us perhaps, knowing

that we could have been under any

of those trees but we had been

saved by providence and

allowed the pleasure of living another 

day on their earth.

The sun was shining brightly by noon

and as we stopped for lunch

the rays reminded us of another 

power, it dried the earth and began the

slow job of returning to normalcy.

Finally I saw the beauty that came

with the devastation and I began

to understand renewal and

renaissance. The earth was injured,

a minor jolt to be sure, but began the

healing as quickly as the injury had

been dealt to it.

I could only marvel now at the 

positive aspects of the storm, the cows

and horses were in the pastures

as though nothing had happened, they

knew they would continue on, not

obsessed with their own mortality,

they continued on in the different earth.

MCC

ATLANTIC STEAMER

ATLANTIC STEAMER
PM1302103

A crisis of wills or perhaps a lack

of will completely leaves us all so

disillusioned and ready to jump aboard

the next train to oblivion.

I have been on that train before,

the AmTrak or Via express into the

wild blue yonder,

throwing all caution to the wind

and givng your wallet and keys to

the conductor and telling

him that you won't be needing

them anymore.

I watch out the window and noticing 

the trees I have to wonder if

they have paid any attention

to me.

They must know I am on the road

to somewhere but do they know my

destination?

Does the information get passed on

from tree to tree until it is stopped

by the ocean and is there

some kind of transatlantic plant

telephone line that allows the air

breathing plants to communicate with

the seaweed and coral.

Ask a tree in Denver what the

weather is like in Bangor and will

it take more than a day to

get the message back to you? I can't

imagine waiting that long, it probably

only takes seconds.

I did talk to a tree in Denver once

but I was not concerned about the 

weather in Maine.

I was more concerned about the

quickest route to Las Vegas and whether

a snowstorm in the Rockies was going

to hinder our progress.

Thankfully the snow was not bad

enough to affect our trip but thanks

to Thomas Pynchon I have always

feared dynamite attacks in Colorado

just as I feared rocket attacks in

London and anything that contained

a banana.

Back on the train it pulls into Los

Angeles and I have completed the 

transcontinental journey that did not

end in oblivion as I had expected.

Instead I arrive at a Taco stand

early in the morning and miscalculate

the amount of hot sauce my mouth can

handle, but I would never throw the

taco away.

Capitol Records looms in the distance and I

fear Al-Quaeda, swooping in over the desert.

MCC

SATURATION

SATURATION
PM1302102

The rain has stopped long ago

but I can still hear it,

pitter, patter, pitter, patter,

moving along the eaves and

then down the spout, I can

even her it seeping into the

ground and the worms become

active with the first droplets

absorbed by their bodies.

The drops splash onto the deck,

wood, metal of the barbeque,

plastic pepsi bottles in the

recycling bin and the metal roof

of the shed.

The trees are shedding the bud

casings early this year because

of the warm weather and they

lay scattered across the top of the patio

table. Once they dry they will blow 

away with a stiff wind,

but until then I am sentenced to

sweep them up and then scatter

them across the lawn where

they belong.

Nature will know what to do

with them even when I do not.

Pods of rain have formed in the

small gullies in the yard and

the birds have come to wash and drink,

some stay in the trees,

on lookout for the cat who

is patient and can wait

for one of them to let their guard 

dow. I watch from the picture

window, steaming cup of coffee in

hand as I dream of going outside

when the rain stops,

but secretly yearning to run around

in the rain and get really wet.

Beads form along the top of the 

railing yet I know I will still

lean there the next time I go out

and my arms will get all wet.

I will walk out in my socks and

they will become soaked, but

I will still change them two or 

three times in one day.

The sun is not going to peek through

today, too many clouds,

even when the rain has stopped,

the clouds will not clear and

it will remain dreary throughout,

giving the sun time to rest and

to catch up on it's thoughts.

I can hide behind the clouds

for a short time but must always

come back out when they clear,

caught by surprise, a hole in the clouds.

MCC

PAINTED ICICLES

PAINTED ICICLES
PM 1302101

I feel a dagger sticking straight

into my heart,

as I watch the days slowly

move past in ultra fast motion

never moving,

head bobbing on one direction,

life gives me the finger as

it passes me by.

"Fuck you," it says,

with that shit-eating grin I have

come to know so well,

like a camel that has finally dehydrated

to the point where it is about to expire,

who is so damn smug now,

even your hump didn't save you 

from the sun.

Pick up the shards of glass that have

been discarded on the desert floor,

pretend they are ice cubes

and let them melt into your stomach.

The reward for eating a cactus is

all the water you can drink even

though you will certainly bleed

to death before being able to slake your

thirst.

First one to the top of the

mountain will be the first to die

from oxygen deprivation,

and the first to the bottom of the sea

will be the one to feel the excruciating

agony when their lungs explode.

Sally Simpson was cool even

though her parents didn't get it,

and that scar across her face was her

medal to prove it.

The movement in here has become stagnant,

fans are going and the heater

above my head blasts fire at me but

my blood has become icy cold,

I can feel the wind as people

pass, odors of sweat and jerk pork

sandwiches mixed with shit

and fear,

so much fear in every direction

I turn.

The cold tap is left on constantly

and blisteringly hot water froths

from the spout.

I can't sing,

the words won't come to me and

I don't feel like it anyway.

I dream of maggot but I

know it is an unattainable idea

and will only lead to disappointment,

the question never asked and

absolutely nothing gained.

I search high and low for the straw

that broke the camel's back.

MCC