as if apprentice to a rewarding master,
leaving within his domain two dozen steel drums
to bloom garrotted murder sealed tightly within.
Two years later, when needing stored oil supplies,
the army came to Czinkota to claim his horde,
then recoiled, under crusts of war-hard horror,
at the pickled remains that they had uncovered.
But Bela Kiss was dead, had been killed in the proud
service of an Empire, so what could be done?,
until spied in Budapest, then New York City,
by people who would lose him, again and again,
in a land where cruelty induces laughter,
disappeared, one among an American crowd.
Copyright Ó by Dan Schneider
It can not ever change. What once was there
is still there because it will not be changed,
but something is changing. A feel for change
can be attained- yet not through change itself,
this pain beyond logic just rearranged,
like a leopard sneaking up into range,
of a young gazelle in ignorant health-
then the chase begins, the break from all things
thought as commonplace, yet hoped for as rare,
in a dutied life subsumed in a blue
besides color, or its recognition:
from a bower a glower, and the cat brings
forth the death of youth, this love of clear vision!
Copyright Ó by Dan Schneider
There are years to go before the last perfect day
on Earth. Then the sun will begin to swell, and life
will cease, shorelines will retreat as oceans boil,
and all will glow a barren red and airless gray.
amid joys and sorrows, with the love of a girl
in a backseat, behind her mommy and daddy,
as they pilgrim to a motel in New Hampshire,
blowing kisses out her window to teenage strays,
drunk in a sportscar, honking and cursing at her
family squareback's pace, as they are full on passing,
as if they are ready to face eternal sleep,
as they leave her family behind on the highway,
that is endless, and endless, and everything.
Copyright Ó by Dan Schneider
This void is that she could never swallow:
when behind the ravening marketplace,
that pit of commerce, the alley growing
darker with each step, where that day expunged
from within. She encompassed its shudder,
or so she dreamt. She thought, then, tomorrow
she could begin to love this difference plunged
beyond her Lord. But that feral smile,
his mortal smells filled the Holy Mother
hung on a fiction that could never be:
the virgin's delight; the rapist plowing
past her desire to be defiled-
O to be fucked so immaculately!
Copyright Ó by Dan Schneider
My needs, they fall away from me. (Dull flesh-
can it convince itself?) They are: oxygen-
to flame each breath; sources of food and water-
to quell the instinctual ravening
brought by you; sources of clothing and shelter-
to protect my body from the world's duress.
my love, for you are verging on somethingness,
like the full beats of my growing heart, which falls
likewise itself, in infinite crashes
into conflagrations which are only all
that keeps my sonnetry in this small purview
which falls from me to you. Should you inquire:
You are not a need. You are all desire.
Copyright Ó by Dan Schneider
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