Black Orpheus: Midnight Stream

The storms of Jupiter ascend,
burning clouds of Neptune and Saturn.
Their perfect orbs, spherical in spite of
hexagonal surges, whirlpools, and vortices,
dervish silent frenzies. Clouded in the eye,
everlasting fog chokes the pupil sight.
It is a repetitive like scratched vinyl clichés, and
lost lacquer messages, hidden and secret, locked,
undismayed by the greed of light that eats away
the shadows. Rejoice in it, a reverie of rainbow
cast darkness inversed up the smoldering bowl
to a dank reality of wispy Nosferatu and elusive
shadow men. The ghosts poke their curl-cued
heads around the corner until the heart
radiates them away, losers of imperfect love
that only manage to remain lost floating
among the silent spheres, the music lost
to the overwhelming space once subdued.
In streams, the conscience flows, it looks, eyes wide,
mouth agape, tongue crossed, an absurdist pretzel
in old wood, chipped and dry. The crab burns,
the feverish blisters, the filthy hands that heal
the wounds lay testament to fever-pitch nightmares
and lazy-Susan personalities, a revolving door of fodder,
all smiles and bright eyes. The immaculate love
barred from the former dimensions,
the heightened aura of forgiveness,
seeps slowly into the empty reservoirs
constructed by our ancestors,
by the beings so weighted
stones set in mud and seal
like concrete, the vast
gemstones of error.

“Black Orpheus: Midnight Stream” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

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Night Green Solace

Still midnight sirens
Hush awake the silent mist
Clouds soft eruption

“Night Green Solace” is a haiku poem written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

 

 

Coming Soon: The Vanishing Poet, a new collection of poetry by Michael Aaron Casares.

 

Ode to the Federal Reserve

T’was 1913, on cold and cumbersome Christmas eve
that the bankers and politicians in shadow held keep.
Monetary laws they passed on that holiday season,
were passed at a time when people were busy holiday pleasing,

and assured notes created by a private source
were to be used as the country’s monetary resource.
These bankers, though, used nothing of value to support their notes,
and debt was created with every printed note.

And debt was owed with every promised note.
There was one other piece, though, this plan would float.
The US owed the bankers, as they charged interest, too,
creating the Income Tax, a practice of usury through and through.

Debt slaves, we pay off the interest to the Fed our country owes
like credit cards paying off credit cards on a debt that eternally flows.

 

“Ode to the Federal Reserve” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

 

 

Mare of Late Night Inconsequence

Final musings of the languished
death cult. Visceral. Death rattle.
Wigs upside down. Make-up makes the man.
Stiletto me this, my good, sir, and don’t forget
to strap it on. Help us support your pink habits,
hats, and manes. Ironic, thin lensed, bun-topped,
bike-rimmed, march through mullet and soft rounded,
gaping smiles teaching love and tolerance.
Beat it into their opposition with open hands
and open hearts, hoping their truths pummel souls
with the light divine. Reformation, the final reiteration
of false regulation. The bowels release their final bloat.
The fumes a familiar smell across borders. Erase.
Unnecessary platform streaming through the stars.
The night an eclipse on the nightmares of the day.
All things sutured to heal and reconcile.
The incisions scab dry as the differences
heal over. Purpose has found a place.

“Mare of Late Night Inconsequence” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

Integer

Pulsars sweeping through the sky,
I become the sun of distant system
far away wanting nothing more
than to warm your life.
Visible hadrons in the sky,
naked to the distant eye,
cannot see what hopes
and dreams locked
inside my heart.
Expand, I breathe deep
with cosmic lungs
the dust of stars,
inhale the swarm,
fragmentary like eclipsing
planets of the sun.
Light fractures into shards
and melts into thin clouds,
glowing, emanate, celestial
swans with twinkling eyes
and dazzling tongues.
Whispers sweep far,
swift into this space,
gregarious place
of mild chatter.
Hearth with heart,
deep warmth inside,
pulsing, beaming,
still alive.

 

“Integer” is written by Michael Aaron Casares, and originally appeared in his collection of poetry This Reality of Man. Buy it now. All rights reserved.