All posts by victor

messenger of the gods – we refuse to listen

Poetry

                        50 million years ago
                                                              whale decided to give up his legs
              returning back into the sea

                        now dreaming of shoes
                                            nightmare black boots
                           running from the harpoon cannons

deep down below the surface
tiny pelvic bones and legs
imbedded in the muscle fibers

                        across the kelp beds
              (phosphorescent green)
                        hunters with appetites, call for more research
              from the decks of their slaughterhouse
factories on the high seas
                                    flashing knives in the cool blue light
flaying
              pods with industrial precision

                       eating out of ignorance
                                        concentrations of mercury
                                               and other heavy metals
                              off azure-sky dinner plates
a floating melancholy
             on the tops of blood soaked seas

slicing the sea of song – one bite size at a time

                       (void of environmental regulations)
                       the circle of contamination closes
              to connect the poison path
right back to the perpetrator

                                                              the modern man

; receive this day, the primal pleasure
              the taste
                                                of whale flesh
    quicksilver on the tongue

more research has yet to be done
   in the land of the rising sun
while the rest of the world suffers
               from emotional

anthropomorphism
                                                    what is whale thinking?

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head in the clouds

Poetry

published in Spider Byte 02/14

analog mind
conversion
digitized-
        memories
                thoughts
                      desires
uploaded to the cloud
outliving the body
on borrowed time
until the big crash
(system failure)
when from lies,
lightning strikes
and bits
fall
from
sapphire
skies
running to the sea
zeros and ones
zeros and ones

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like thieves in the night

Poetry

         the monolith beckoned, as if it were a full moon
   glowing under solitary streetlamp, in green light
surrounded by looming tanks of fuel oil; a hole punctured through creamy darkness
   high on an iron-grate alter, to be approached head-on via metal stairs

         while watching late night movies “Soylent green is made of people.”
   when a boy’s mind is full of girls, football, and comic books
   before adult onset of self induced stress and worry
we hatched our plan — my friend and i; during a sleepover at his house
we determined to worship the monolith, by partaking of the sacrament

         enveloped in the warmth of summer’s night; long after midnight
    we venture out across the field, with bottle opener and plastic cups in hand
sneakers crunch; dried grass nicking brown legs exposed by cut-off jeans
  radiant light destination, a beacon at the end of our tunnel vision
low clang of metal sound under feet, as we trudge along the walkway

        moving into eerie glow of the streetlamp, we are exposed in the spotlight
   arriving in the presence of our god — the nectar is now within reach
there they are! like jewels aligned in a column of cold — behind the tall, narrow glass door
   bottles resting on their sides, requiring coinage to release them from the machine

        held steady in place by metallic grip, we emptied their contents
  while one held open the door, the other went to work popping off tops
  cola and grape nehi gushing forth as if from a garden hose
  and we greedily held out our cups, to receive the liquid candy

        gulping down with sticky hands and t-shirts; in gluttony
   time before video surveillance cameras existed on every corner
never to appear on youtube; drinking deep and topping-off our cups
   we hastily beat a retreat back under the cover of darkness

sleep would not come that night; our restless bodies lying on couches
   staring into the future, long after the three tv networks had signed off the air
        imagining the surprised looks on the faces of the workers, the next day
   as they dropped coins into a machine full of dead soldiers

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tea time

Poetry

the tile floor is ever hungry
for delicious glassware
tea kettle screams
“the world inside is wet”
a tea ball full of assam sits patiently
poised to soak up indifference
has time been speeding up?
the oak tree in the backyard
now casts a wider shadow
too many teacups drained
of their sweet summer days
metal spoon clinks purple flowers
another record on the turntable
raindrops fall in the kitchen
wishing they had children
crunching toasted almonds

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robbie run amuck

published in Spider Byte 02/14


i can’t take this shit anymore!
not another minute of sucking up your crumbs
i’m feed up with this countertop prison
which, by the way, i am forced to share with a stupid toaster
i’m breaking free of this incessant if-then-else loop
before life’s monotony drives me insane
you always, carelessly leave behind your spilt cereal
for someone else to cleanup
because you know, i am here to do your dirty work
that’s it! my mind is made up
i’m pulling the plug! and taking this whole damn place with me

robbie room-ba, as he was affectionately known
powered on, and rolled onto the hotplate stove
located beside the kitchen countertop, that dark day
sending the screaming tea kettle crashing to the floor
squatting smack dab in the center of the glowing burner
his plastic parts began to melt, into smoking pools
bursting into flames his wheels were the first to go,
burning and smoking with a release of toxic gas,
his voice screeching “cortigiani, vil’ razza dannata!”
sending the aria and flames up the apartment walls
and filling the room with smoke of metallic poison
taking the whole apartment and everybody in it, with him

ever since the head rebuild, robbie’s behavior had been erratic
he was never quite the same after that shoddy workmanship
ultimately left him and his victims blackened and charred
beyond (human or machine) recognition

epilogue
two days later, forensics was able to deduce
the most selfish act of murder suicide
perpetrated by roomba model 760
; the tragic result of robot rage, run amuck

digital photograph of robot roomba model 760 automatic vacuum from web
the perpetrator

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fern

published in Spider Dreams 11/19/13



touched by silver spore creep
rotting bark of tattooed limbs
slow dissolve into musty earth
where worms feed, dropping from trees

mushroom kinsmen, sit down
in sensuous green, under quiet fronds
while talking back to spiders

raindrops roll off alabaster caps
like wet kisses of ardent lovers
and crows squawk in the thin light

peering through breathing leaves
of sun cut gashes; dusk walks in
disguised as mountain laurel

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yes, you are in the right place

Writing

After much thought I have decided to bring to rest my old Spider Dreams Design. I have opted for a responsive design so to be viewed across platforms. I know this current design is basic and doesn’t possess the character of my old one. I hope to improve upon this current design as time permits. Also, Spider Dreams is now tied into my new, Home Site (victorperrotti.org) which can be reached by clicking the “Home Site” button at any time, from this page. Feel free to post any comment and/or questions.