Desire Skeleton

The mountains are heroes watching mean streets.
They invite us thru blue doors that meet earth and trails that end in stars.

At the restaurant, my daughter
hands me a receipt, "you owe me for when you weren't
there and I needed you," she says.
I call it intervention because of her drinking.
She calls it a free breakfast with a .45 on her tongue.

I want to live inside a snowflake and dream in hexagonal
videos that teach me the cold logic of life.

In the winter air sirens scream on the road.
In the desert snow an owl disembowels a rabbit.

She writes: "Words are loose ends strung along
a line of disease and cure, passion and ennui.
The game of chance ends in silence."

At the core of who I am sits a worm
that would eat a hole in the heart of the world.

Half-lives and bad dreams play shadow puppets
at the edge of dead volcanoes in the west of the city.
Red rocks hibernate in mud and in Spring
will open a gate to below where the world began.

(c) copyright 2012 Charles David Miller. All rights reserved.