Foreign Terrain, Third Month
Buried behind rims of steamed glass lenses,
Breathing deep the smoke’s coffee aroma,
He balances with a book, a quota
Of figures from his bank account, creases
Accentuating his darkening hands
Scarring with frustration, the cold daybreak
Stressing his bones and joints. He chose the shock
Of sitting stark naked inside the rounds
Of daylight misting through the window screen
Though the temperature froze guava trees
Orcharding the yard, his fingers tense, knees
Trembling, eyes dry, hair erect, and scalp thin.
The young man chooses his suffering well
Especially after the move, his flight
From standard home to new home. To his right
A balance book, to his left a gray cell.
Out of a whistle, a bolt of brown fur
Shot scampering for banyan safety roots,
Belly tight pulled by pain from a hunger
Screaming with infant tones. Kukui nuts
And flowers struggle with satiating
Centuries of inherent grooming. Plates
Of asphalt cracked and pushed by thick reaching
Roots the mongoose jetted for, leaf terrain
Where a coral or corn snake coil resting
In wait for a meal of its own, the sun
Filtering through red-brown bark arms, maybe
The mongoose might be able to sustain
The devilish hunger in its belly
Only to discover a scavenger
Built the same, no extinct snake, no treaty.
Springtime 2009, Sunning On the Deck
The mountain and the ocean are neglected.
Flesh foams over lava rock. Brush webs over dead tree trunks.
Everything between these two is lauded.
From onset holiday seasons, men and women,
Groped over by necessity complexes,
Dispute which are real and which are fake by sign
Of a paid day off from work or day of rest –
Pending they can stand family or solitude.
The gods don’t seem to stress their mood
Over these days even if they don’t exist.
But if they do, we would mean little more
Than blip jokes under their feet.
Our lives whore
Out for tasks that break us down; and once finished,
They hold insignificant reward and missed
Economic independence. The mountain
And ocean rely on good looks as they strain
Their resources. They pawn off their fish and chunk gold,
Divvy their innate nutrients to provide
For symbiotic lice fattened with pride.
After conceit fades, we shiver reflexes,
Considering shivering repels internal cold.
David L. Paxton (website davidpaxton.com) has previously been published in Poetic Hours, The Flagler Review, Splizz, Purple Pig Lit and The Nocturnal Lyric, and received his Masters of Arts Administration from Savannah College of Art and Design in 2013. He currently resides in Middleburg, FL. working as an independent arts professional as a painter and poet, growing with various curating opportunities for exhibitions. His poetry deals primarily with situational location and reaction due to his travels across the United States from the East Coast to Hawaii.