There were candles
Placed in a row
Along concrete floors
On the outside
Where doormats laid
Neatly nestled
Below porch-light rays
After dusk

From flickering bulbs
Overhead
While the August moon
Reached its zenith
And fireflies danced
Above cornfields
As each figure paced
Toward our steps

With lanterns held
By their fists
In silent approach
Seeming shapeless
Yet appearing real
Through that window
Looking back like heads
Missing eyes

Only faces there
Turning white
Under dusty robes
Nearly floating
Holding charcoal gusts
Soon collected
Forming spidery hands
Pointing up

Marking prying souls
Who dare stare
Or glance down too long
At such evil
Bringing danger back
Bearing judgment
Losing all but hate
On their march

Being ghosts
Of what still remains
Stalking innocent lands
Newly tainted
Hearing crickets chirp
Trailing footprints
Coming ever so close
Feeling home.

• J. Pigno

Our lives
Become empty seats
In a waiting room
Littered with mirrors
Staring at selves
Missing semblance
Of another sad soul
Disappeared

Like faded breath
Losing shape
By exhausted lungs
Always screaming
For one more chance
Chasing daylight
Contained in forms
Rarely known

Which failure molds
Over bone
Hollowed through hell
Under hardship
Where marrow drips
Bitter traumas
While poisoning blood
Never fresh

Stealing each face
Melted down
When meaning seeks
Better contours
Tracing that frame
Neatly hidden
Below what faith
Takes its place

Returned as sin
Grinning back
But invisible now
Still pretending
How happiness shields
Even skeletons
From watching casts
Slowly change

Or vanishing here
Leaving space
And revealing proof
Choosing errors
Since the vacant bench
Seems delighted
To remind us
Flesh did exist.

• J. Pigno

This life
By late night static
Is the reason
My dreams bleed neon
With a laugh track
Waiting on couches
Where reality sits
Left behind

From feeling again
Before bed
That warm colored glow
Over channels
Catching glimpses there
Of each memory
Missing names
How Friday had tapes

By forgotten waves
Nearly lost
I’m believing now
Are those evenings
Caught between shows
Always canceled
For programming blocks
Still awake

Only analog worlds
Understand
Like commercial breaks
Never ending
When selling us toys
Seemed so easy
Against simple needs
Dearly missed

Hearing heroes die
Going live
Through modem noise
Learning language
And agreeing hell
Was nostalgia
Staying relevant
Even if cursed

Since remembering
Hurts even more
Than expired joy
Turning stagnant
Or its background hum
Going silent
As reruns play
After 10.

• J. Pigno

I never really left
Where we sat
On that dirty teal couch
In my basement

While Lucky would cry
Staring blankly
Under analog screens
As he’d hide,

And shed his hair
Over carpets
Fear damaged again
By each footprint

Of a kid so scared
Seeking safety
On rabbit ear waves
Watching wars

Unfold like games
After school
Being sent back home
Without warning

When September skies
Appeared bluest
For those Tuesday clouds
Sharing sun

Alongside smoke
Feeling changed
But somehow now
Always ready

Seeing static fade
During nightmares
Mashing buttons down there
All alone –

How controllers spoke
On that day
Only knowing truth
Through distraction

Or obsession soon
Getting older
Needing fantasy
Rather than fate

Because childhood
Still didn’t wait
Growing up near sets
Switching stations

To more bad news
Showing reruns
Since life had become
Channel 3.

• J. Pigno

Sometimes I feel like
There is so much
Fucking wrong
With me.

But I want joy
Wonder
And creation –

The people I love,

Their reflection like
Mirrors
Of beauty and meaning
Colliding.

I want to be
Part of the Earth

With innovation
Rooted
Like ethernet and tree roots.

I want
Wild dayglo days,

And happy
Otaku hippies

By my side
With controllers

And relishing
That freedom to be
Obsessive
While truly alive.

I don’t want
Your dishonest
Day job blues,

Your money,
Your politics
Screaming

On OLED screens
Too filtered
From blue light waves
Hiding truth.

I want to express
How awesome
It actually is
At all –

To feel so deeply
Alone

About how purposefully
Flawed
Flesh remains.

We were made
By a playful God.

We are t-shirts
Of tie-dye requiems.

I want dragons,
Dinosaurs
And Dreamcasts –

Myths with tags
Still attached,

Peanut butter
And honey sandwiches
On a rainy
Inside day

Where stars shine
Neon for good
On static-filled VHS
Memories

Where old Saturday mornings
Stay
Forever again
Like figures
On eternity’s shelf
Staying put
Until we blow
Off that dust.

• J. Pigno

I’m afraid of things
Looking up
Because that’s when fate
Wields its dagger

And fearing God
Feels essential
From years spent cut
By His blade –

Sliced through faith
Showing wounds
Which heal far less
Than they fester,

Torn through age
Wearing weakness
While sick at seams
Sticking out

Since wishing again
We can mend
What obvious pain
Keeps us praying

When beautiful knives
Hide reflections
Like emptiest ends
Humans face.

These ashen tears
Rolling down
Such jagged masks
Hung in gardens

On statues gray
Tell their stories
With stone cold hate
Staring back

Towards frantic lives
Kneeling still
For chances gained
Playing danger

If wagering hope
Hardly worthy
But knowing defeat
Remains swift.

Our happiness reigns
Only once
Until kingdom come
Bearing judgment

Will smile before
Claiming memories
Were just heavenly sights
Being lost.

• J. Pigno

I’m afraid
We’ll never see
Paradise
For one last trip
As intended

With dreams
Which hold
Blood and palm trees
Like veins of days
Better known

If going away
Where there’s sun
To remember
How life
Was expected

When hope
Had once
Meant existing
Through experience
Sharing that warmth –

Now idle again
Being home
Getting stuck
In here
Growing colder

By excluding joy
From our options
While screens
Fake years
Barely felt,

Not seeking change
But demands
Such illness
Begs
Killing reasons

Any further fate
Faced together
Should endure
What chill
Always blows

Towards windows
Shielding outside
Since love
Escapes
Even prisons

Called happier homes
Become cellblocks
Or wards
Wishing freedom
So far.

• J. Pigno

As a kid
I really loved trains
Always thinking
Their tracks were unending

Like paths on rails
Made of iron
Under clouds which hid
Burning coals

Just to realize
Tangerine suns
And that golden dusk
Near our station

Must wait with scenes
Towards horizons
Where death
Is day being done –

Passing counties
Closing up shop
Almost ready for
Faith’s fading seasons

While harvests bloom
Hardened journeys
All innocence reaps
Growing old,

When country warmth
Feels its chill
Since summer’s grief
Gives no respite

Seeing autumn’s threat
Come in colors
Across wishful fields
Turning cold.

Those August nights
Still endure
By traveling lines
Through each memory,

Hearing engines blow
Sullen whistles
Calling souls back home
During sleep –

Sitting one more time
Near the back
Painted red from pain
Long behind me,

Soon leaving now
Even knowing
Locomotion
Never did last.

• J. Pigno

My treasure
Remains unnoticed
By everyone
Other than me

Like toys left close
On a nightstand
For the comfort
Of knowing they stay,

With stars that glow
Neon green
As memories
Lighting white ceilings

Where characters
Kept over pillows
Bring hope
Before morning arrives

To express
What innocence wakes
From fading dreams
Always soaring

Through orange skies
Never darkened
Riding beasts
Who exist only there –

Seeing freedom
Carry through wind
Sacred meaning
Shining its reason

How beautiful scenes
Truly wondrous
Hold those answers
Time can forget.

Perhaps someday
I’ll return
After aging paves
Bitter pathways,

Letting childhood
Bear easy burdens
While adults endure
Heavy turns

Towards places lost
Needing joy
Or another old friend
Undiscovered

Until willingly claimed
Seeking riches
In lands long thought
Far away.

• J. Pigno

We’re leaving
No pictures behind
But the liminal space
In our memories
With their negatives
Lost among pages
Where colorful days
Remain scrapped

As a privilege
Housing what stays
After moments pass
Even faster
Than these faded stills
Growing yellow
From time which dulls
Vivid scenes

And eliminates
Things often missed
Like minutiae gazed
Over decades
Turning background noise
Truly silent
Just to somehow speak
Yet again

Through that image
Caught between lives
Soon worlds apart
After aging
But becoming real
For mere seconds
Looking back on love
As it was

Having holidays home
Around stars
Over Christmas trees
Always glowing
Seeing kitchens filled
During evenings
Warmly tinted
When family arrived

Seeming bleak
Now polluted by light
Feeling far too harsh
Since recalling
How tomorrow’s pain
Barely warrants
Such photographs
Facing each sun.

• J. Pigno