The Neighborhood Is Silent

The neighborhood is silent
against the raucous jeers
of abounding crowds.
Traffic rushes statically
on highways not far from here.
The wind rhapsodizes dreamily,
lulling the silent, sleeping street.
But the neighbors are watching,
I’m sure, as I carve an apple,
(its red skin sweating in the
pungent humidity).
I never speak to my neighbors.
We never barbecue, either.
We remain indoors, in our
closed circuit environments,
in our creature comfort habitats,
in our dens of solidarity.
The land has changed:
preference of security leaves
these remains, these dormant
people, silent and secluded
from extemporaneous movement.
Wheels on upturned bikes spin
like reels of family-time past
and the basketball, the children’s
games are completely forgotten.
The children are gone, locked behind
barred doors, or perhaps in their
basements, slaves to their senses:
eyes and tongue.
The neighbors are watching though.
I am sure as I smoke a cigarette
and scream a verse or two that they
huddle quietly, waiting to break free.

 

“The Neighborhood is Silent” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

Advertisements

Lady Peacock

She altered and formed each savoring step. A vision in ebony blue, deep forest greens sparkled like crystals. She was a peacock on the stage, her flamboyance tempered by her pensive nature. She was lost in thought, but not in action. Her fire an aggression that lived in her dance. In each turn and spin, a violent thrust of idea, a depressed perception of man, a black and white, a sense of division, unity defeated by absolutes. The blue light cast on her smokey make up, the lines of her eyes cracked and watching. She tumbled to the floor, a cascade of plume and glitter.

“Lady Peacock” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

 

 

Crystalline Delirium

Day after thanks runs together like one.
Five days, four nights of questionable lust
clouded by the threat of retreat, or worse,
a social disease. Truth. I held him like a
lover. I loved him like forever, aware I’d not
see him for another few weeks. First time
in my bed, beneath the heavy liquids of rash
decision, the consequences and rewards are
days away. Uncompleted. Unity in souls is
never met. An exercise of tongues and
marvels, the deep breathing exploits
sensation with euphoric death.
Chemical nausea. Becoming in the end
the shrill of nerves that joyful sing.
Sunrises in a blink of an eye. The queens
gab on as the cold and the hot tug war.
The dead arise to work as consumption
has peaked for the year, and the fall reset
takes its leave; as gratitude gives way to reality
and the innocent are stricken as darkened love
plants sleep and doubt, and old ghosts begin
to dance without a care between the moon
and the sun.

 

“Crystalline Delirium” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

Faery Hill – Part Two

I parked on the street. There was always parking at this time, the time just after the dinner rush, but before the bar rush. I lit a cigarette as I got out of my car. Jack Lats’ was one of the only establishments in the whole city that allowed their patrons to smoke. A city ordinance had banned the activity from all public business, but the owners fought for their right to allow smoking in their establishment. An obnoxiously bold sign was posted outside that read, “This establishment allows smoking in doors. If you don’t like it, take your butt somewhere else.” They’d been sued, of course, but won the case as a privately owned business. It didn’t hurt their bottom line. A lot of gay people were smokers.

I walked into the bar, my eyes immediately accosted by its dim presence. The neon signs lit like beacons on the wall above the main bar and around the room. The dance floor was not on. It was too early for all of that. A few drinkers scattered throughout the place. A couple in the corner, awkwardly close to each other, a few friends grouped at the bar corner, a few more pairs sitting at high tops puffing away and laughing. The juke box was playing a kick-back Madonna in her retro, dance glory. Adam was working the bar, a client. He looked up when I walked in and smiled, winking as he mixed a drink for a solo barfly.  He turned to me when done.

“Hey, my man, what’s going on?” He was a mullet wearing, mustache baring gay man. A Village Person in the flesh, I always thought, and wondered how the gay culture had circled back around to that stereotyped look. Facial hair, groomed or not, had become a fad among the gays again. Made it a little easier to distinguish a top from a bottom, but that was beside the point.

“Not much. Just doin’ my rounds, you know.” I looked at him squarely. He knew I meant business.

“Cool, cool. Can I get you a drink? I’ll go get Danny.”

“Sure.” He always served on the house. Another perk of being a drug dealer. I never had to tell him what I wanted. He always knew. A whiskey man, I flavored it up with a coke and a splash of grenadine. My own Jack Cherry Coke. No one else ordered it, he told me once. Tossed a couple of cherries in it.  James disappeared from the bar, walking to the back where the office was. By the time I’d about finished my cocktail, he’d returned, inviting me back. No one paid attention to us, consumed by their beverages and company. Smoke wafted in the air, billiards clicked, Madonna was on a marathon, a modern era song now pulsing with the latest synths and rave beats.

“Lexxie!” Danny squealed. “Well if it isn’t my favorite top daddy in the whole wide world!” Danny wasn’t the only one whom referred to me as Lexxie, but I did prefer Alex. He was a total blouse from what I’d been told. I’d never known him sexually, despite being invited to numerous parties throughout our brief history together. I never went even though I could probably wrack up new business. I was particular about my clients, and didn’t need many. It also helped keep a low profile and limited the amount of runs I’d have to make. Sometimes all you needed were the right people to be successful.

The office was small, but nice. It looked clean and everything seemed to be in proper place. The lights were provided by a few table and floor lamps. The carpet looked new and clean. He remained at his desk; a multi-drawered credenza. A flat screen computer, paperwork and files, and a desk lamp sat idle before him. There was a long couch and coffee table to the right, ash trays and pillows decorated the furniture. A small fridge sat in the corner, and a large cabinet occupied opposite corner. The place was well put together and not what you’d expect in a dive like this. Danny was clean faced with a short, styled coif, and fit with toned arms. He wore a tight black shirt and slacks. He was older than he looked, more of a daddy than I was.

“Thanks for stopping by, Alex. I always appreciate the visit.” I liked how Danny got straight to business. He never seemed big on wasting time.

“For sure.” Danny stood up and opened one the doors on his credenza’s second level.

“Sooo,” he intoned, “A G for an 0, right?”

Danny hadn’t bought as much before. He musta’ been prepping for a party or something, “Yessir.” I dug into my coat pocket. I pulled out a baggie of pearly silver white dust. It was best smoked. I couldn’t imagine this drug been around long enough for people to try different, crazy ways of consuming it. As far as I knew, no one had ever mainlined it. Danny licked his lips as we made the exchange.

“Thanks, Alex. I deeply appreciate it,“ he said again. I think he was fiending.

“For sure, man. Anytime. As long as I stay wired, I’ll always be there for you.”

Danny shook my hand and pulled me in for a hug. It was customary with him. I embraced back as he stroked my back with a flat hand. I semi forced a release. He laughed. We didn’t much small talk, and it was okay by me. I was usually in and out. Sometimes I caught a drink, other times a hit with Brett, another bartender. I hadn’t seen him this time.

“I guess I’ll see you around, Danny.” He bowed and agreed cordially. I hugged him again, and turned away. The scene was not as awkward as it read, it was just extremely formal. A business transaction.

“Be sure to grab a couple drinks on me. Adam, you take care of Lexxie.” Danny was pointing in the air towards Adam, who stood by the door looking at his phone.

“Sure thing, Danny.”

Adam, the mustached and mulleted bartender and I walked out of the office, back into the dim sanctuary of the dive bar. I had a couple more drinks at the bar with him. It was the best way to pass rush hour in this city. Madonna was still playing on the jukebox. Musta’ been a die-hard fan in the audience today. He gossiped a bit about Danny, remarked how he was throwing a smasher in honor of Jimmy, a good friend that’d gone missing. He’d been ill, and then one day just was gone. We took a shot to Jimmy. My head began to swirl a bit. Motion swiveled. Another bartender came in. Eric. Eric was a hot, young one. His toned and muscled physique was a fan favorite and a reason why he worked the night shift. He created more loyal patrons in his waist-hi jeans, the band of his jockstrap usually riding over his beltline, making patrons thirstier every time he turned around. Adam and I shared another shot as Eric finished his set-ups. All the barflies were to themselves at the moment, none requiring attention or another round. Adam and I had been laughing and enjoying each other’s company when he asked if I wanted to share a hit with him out back. I obliged, not intent on leaving downtown yet. The traffic was still thick.

 

“Faery Hill” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. Short fiction, part two of five. 

 

Insufferably Didactic

She walked to the door, opened it,
greeted the salesman with bible in hand,
invited him in, offered coffee or hot cocoa.

He did not need evidence to believe;
she did not need to believe to have evidence
because it was there hidden in the books of man;
the ones the preachers refuted and called blasphemy.

”Do not believe in the works of man,” he’d been told,
“for their works are nothing compared to the Lord’s.”

What’s there is there before your eyes, even if you don’t
understand, she’d thought.

The mysteries of origin were becoming undone,
science was opening the doors of spirituality,
unmasking the face of god, showing man He
and at the same time Himself.

But the preachers could not have that, could not
turn over those stones, could not find God in the forest
or God in the trees, could not find God inside him or
inside she.

“We are energy,“ she said and meekly bowed her head

and slightly smiled

because she knew that when we were at an end, no matter what
faith we labeled this existential dream, we would be the same,
free from all this constructed dust animated and given names.
The only question was what experience we chose as we walked
our circles down the path and off the trail.

 

“Insufferably Didactic” is written by Michael Aaron Casares, and was originally published in his book This Reality of Man. All rights reserved.

 

Patreon Ready To Go

Good evening, dear readers. I hope you are well. Good news on the internet front. I’ve pretty much completed the overhaul of my Patreon site. Much of the free content is a reflection of what you read on The Root of Many Returns by way of poetry and short fiction. My ultimate goal is to provide readers with more stuff to read, and enough ideas to appeal to many. The idea behind the Patreon site is to give readers the ability to donate to my work if they’d like, but to also get something back in return. I designed this to be cost effective for those wanting to monetarily support my creative efforts.

Patreon2018-2019
Join for $1 today: www.patreon.com/macasares

Granted I’ve just started to gain your favor, and only begun to prove my worthiness as a writer you want to read, this is the main reason I decided on this model. You can show your appreciation by joining my Patreon, and for only $1 you’ll help me grow on a foundation I’ve worked a number of years to create. As a way of saying thanks, I’ll share extra content I won’t necessarily share here on The Root of Many Returns. Stuff like rough drafts, behind the scenes material, original video content (there’s already a lot posted), digital downloads, serialized novels, novel chapters, novel rough drafts, and stuff like that. My goal is to get to where I’m producing at least one book per year. As you can tell, there are several modes I’m looking to explore. I’ll gladly have you along and am happy to have that added dimension to your experience. Check it out. Most things are updated, any poems and some of the fiction for patrons only will be become public once I share them here.

 

Patreon2018-2019-donationgifts

There is a wide selection of original video content available on my Patreon now, as well as behind the scenes material, digital downloads, novel chapters, story artwork, and much more. So, be sure to check it out!

 


Visit today: http://www.patreon.com/macasares