Cooper Elementary School
East Side

Nature wages war in empty halls
windborne erasure of blackboard
ghost voices echo
children long gone
Brick Book Stone Slate
Earth returns Earth
man’s work falls
conquered by crowns of daffodils
and the majesty of
Queen Anne’s lace.

(Image: Andrew Moore, Cooper Elementary School East Side; Detroit Dissassembled)

Ballroom, Lee Plaza Hotel
Detroit










City of dilapidated ballrooms
Ancient pianos
Gutted of strings
Stripped of the songs
that gave life meaning
Stripped of voice mechanism tempo
Who will sing for this city?



(Photo: Andrew Moore; Detroit Disassembled)

End Game















In the corner of the yard a raven coughed
echoing an old wives' tale
looming above
sky slate blue
sliver of outer space shining through
ominous cold.
Ice storm began
and I held out my hand
each crystal I caught disappeared
In the corner of the yard
a raven coughed
eyes of stone gray
refused to look away
I blinked and in that moment
you were gone.

(Image: Samuel Bak, Chess Piece, 1933)

Castle














It seems you’ve crossed into a land
I’ve never been--
stepped over
the metaphysical line
where life reaches out
and shakes death’s hand,
back again how does the light look
after hours in the tunnel?
does it blind the soul?
how long before promises made
in moments of panic
loosen their hold
and drift unmet into the aether?

(Image:Dmitri Zajtsev, Chess)

Opening Gambit











Atmospheric disturbance
almost electric,
inhale exhale
while Time holds her breath.
I stand in the gap--
between knowing - unknowing--
and All the while
the end of the world
is no more than
a heartbeat away.

(Image: Marcel Duchamps, Portrait of Chess Players)

PURGATORY

Long gone dead
days spent stumbling
through the nether
sunrise deja vu
faces mere
recollection
ancient voices no more than
echoes - mistaken
illusion of solidity
strength of rock
fallen to shadow.
Somewhere in the in-between
a soul stands
naked
unarmed.

(Image: Francis Bacon, Self-Portrait, 1971)

The Death of Culture














Midnight and the Minotaur's lost in the city,
circling the same neon walls passed
in the endless orbit hours
following dinner with Pablo.
He approaches random passersby,
dispassionate cocktail crowds
who offer shrugs of apathy.
Kong had it right--
once they force
you off the island-grab
a likely virgin-hightail it
up the Empire State--
film at eleven--
a face no one forgets.

Days were different in the labyrinth,
before he entered the mental maze
that led him to trade
fame for freedom.
The Minotaur in his prime
welcoming the flower of youth--
a fan club willing to pay any price
for nothing more than
the merest glimpse of glory.

(Image: Pablo Picasso, The Minotaur and His Wife, 1937)