Entangled in the impassable

forest, I turn dejectedly,
only to find the way out
too obscure for me to discern.
With resignation and
quiet foreboding, I try to
clear a new path, and
for my trouble I am engulfed
in a sea of sticky grass
that rises above my head;
the land is intent on
drowning me.
I thrash and grapple with
the tangled mass
as the hot sun glares at me,
draining my sweat and my strength.
I finally break through
and find myself in a land
not my own,
and in my relief
at being anywhere
that I can catch my breath,
I no longer
bother to notice
that I am bereft of
hope.

I find its lack

of scar tissue
startling and unsettling.
It has no instructions,
and its uses are unclear
to me, although I've heard
whispered intimations
that it might fit comfortably
under the stairs.
It's right in front of me
but its visage is
too strange and
colorful,
too preposterously
bright
for me to grasp.
It's set off my
alarm bells,
because any day now,
I just know
the damned thing
is gonna blow up
in my face.

The tangled limbs

were matched by voices
frayed from mad,
straining assertion.
No silken words
could stem the tide of
enthusiastic
bludgeoning,
now well advanced,
and the insipid pleas
of the well-meaning
buffoon wringing his
beautifully smooth hands
from a safe distance
were lost in the
happy uproar of
righteous murder.

He shifted uneasily

in his chair as the
young one,
still foreshadowing
manhood,
looked at him with eyes
that conveyed accusation
and betrayal.
"You didn't tell me
how hard it would be."
You wouldn't have understood.
You were more interested
in nap time and learning to walk.
"But couldn't you have made me
stronger?"
It was enough
just to civilize you.
"But there was no hint of
the suffering out there."
You weren't ready to know it.
"But you knew I'd find out."
We tried to delay that part as long
as we could.
"So why did you bring me here?"
Because we needed you so much --
we just didn't know it
until we met you.
And the boy-man
accepted
without understanding,
and secretly wished his
father would embrace him.

His manly cape

fluttered in the hot wind,
his compelling shirt
clung to his
heroic physique
as if it were greasepaint,
his tights proclaimed
nobility,
and the sheer magnificence
of his shoes
would have awed
all spectators
(had there been any).
And as he boldly strode toward
the searing, popping, steaming
lava field,
he almost felt sorry for
the poor son of a bitch
it was belching out of.

It spat out

remnants of gore
from its voracious mouth,
its lungs greedily sucking in
the night air as it stood on
the trembling mountain.
It looked with hate-soaked eyes
in every direction,
seeking signs of
threat and blood.
Seething and panting
in its bottomless fury,
it tore the cowering, shrieking
head
off of one final hapless "opponent".
It clambered up the final
dark pathway to the summit,
and standing on it in contempt,
it howled its victory
to the mutilated valley below,
the absurd days
of sapiens weakness
now happily forgotten.

Three Haikus (Go)

I drift without aim;
confused impulses take arms;
I amuse myself.

Old ties rekindled,
I revel in happy times.
Memory is kind.

Restless spirits walk;
I look at them absently.
Their faces are mine.