A Quest For Escher's Staircase

If only the road were an endless tattoo
Scribing it’s religion across this canvas.
Perhaps it could even flash the brights
At the right time
Warring warnings on the asphalt battlefield.

I’ll be your Sal if you’ll be my Dean,
Seeking the lost father that’s haunting our dreams.
We’ll blur the state lines of marriage and decency,
Litter children like soon-forgotten cities.
Share this incomplete husk with me,
Trekking towards reconciling our shattered masculinity.
Let’s ride this dark soul of America,
Levitating above the varicose highway veins
In the reaping lull of the gloaming---
It’s time the Tinsmith whispers
Set the pace for our madness.

Horizon’s endless enticement
---The consummate trickster---
Doubles back on time’s loaded die
Withering righteousness to elegy.
Moment's past ripe, truth turned cryptology---
What phantom hero pummels the accelerator onward?

Dear Monteria

Dear Monteria,

I’ve never felt the tread of your exotic streets,
nor the pulling anguish of time’s cruelty,
yet love is a telepathy all its own.

Every fragrant roll of a tongue;
every sway of steps to a rhumbaed internal beat;
every flourishing maelstrom of emotion—
ripens a mind to the womb of your beauty.

Somewhere you stir in far off splendor,
tasting a panoptic wonder divorced
from the skeleton songs Americana.
What chorus flows in your veins?
For an endless canto viscerally beckons.

You’ve bestowed a most wondrous gift,
a being sui generis.
Would that I could repay,
award kingdoms and treasures,
yet all I’ve to offer is a beating heart,
too-tired hands, and a promise of fidelity.

Until the day we finally meet,
have no fear for the treasure of your city;
she remains divine, safe-guarded,
a true testament to your beauty.

Love