Friday, September 22, 2017

the fabric of night

see me as vermillion
locked with a tiny key a thousand years old
tarnished
tempered
by wind & water rising, rising
press me to cerulean between arms of sage & milo
smelling of tuesday's coming storm
penny-copper sharpness
bright
bold
I am snow
and
the
earth that lies between the cracks in the sidewalk
baked by sun
mysteries golden in particles of glass--dust
tarnished
tempered
by wind & water rising, rising
rain falls on a plum tongue waiting for a cotton memory
and
a pillow
skin coral-pink bells of pulsing weathered molecules
ozone & ash & death
life trembling
tarnished
tempered
feel my azure evergreen shimmer against your thigh
slight--open
to line & moonlight
rising, rising

see me as vermillion
there amongst the night

hymn #7

are there more like us?
thinly held between the cracks of light and refute
balanced as the wings of some giant flailing bird
hell bent upon southern winds in autumn
are there more like us?
crimson thread held between philtruim and coffee
bound for Oz
side trip to Costco proves to be fatal
well...
only so
we wait for bluebirds to sing us to sleep amoungst the ash
of our sorrow

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

frame of reference

the light of this day shimmers on the gray
trembled cadence
shadows dart from a blue jay's feathers
hackberry's branches quiver
brushed by
western breeze--slight--varied
sun breaking upon pavement
tethered warm to earth's intention
and
purpose
quiet settles the dust of dawn
distant the drum & thrum of chaos
quiet here
quiet
being swallowed by the azure verdant echo
of hummingbirds

Algorithm for Minimizing the Impact of Thin Clouds at Mile Marker 397


west . . .
as the sun cotton-candies the day
tequila pink highway thump thum thump thum thump thums
palomino ghost cuts over prairie grasses & milo
dust's syruped sting tastes of soil & sage
time rolls to reo-red-wagon
seamless
tightness
opens
opens to the outflow
tendrils of possibility drift to earth
in direct ratio to the wanting of vermillion
and
the density of uncertainty
thump thum
thump thum
run palomino
run west to the sun

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

5 o'clock thicket


it
is lonely here
quiet
windows of sunlight feed me
waiting on this cold pink-marbled bench for a sign
and even though you can't see it--it is snowing
it always snows here
it can rain
     but that happens most often in the morning
snowing softly in this captured glen of birch & pine
a slow
dropping sparkle of designed brilliance
a meadowlark sings
maybe a meadowlark is always singing
my feet grow restless as they tap & play in the foliage
should I play a penny-whistle while I wait
or sketch the inside of your heart?
definitely should take up smoking,
or knitting,
or model airplane building
I could build a plane & fly away to the last place where I picked up your scent
rich cherry-earth,
honeyed & mine
hmm...
that is cutting too close.
too close to the burn, the pinch, the punch that is the want of you
it resides in a scarlet-arched line from the base of my throat, to my groin
and travels out in a spiraling crescent moon
to blossom-explode upon
this night marrying to star-shine & nightingales
that is cutting to close
just wait
here
in September's snow 

Monday, September 11, 2017

Of Septembers ...

writing sustains
-sometimes-
fills the hollows when the river slows
mercurial
fluid
fierce
words & water
devotion weaved in destruction's whispers

rising

rising

to
bind heart to land and moon

rising

rising

words pour from unfamiliar fingers
from hands once young
water
spills
tumbles
over stone and shore
once young

we rise
we rise
tumbling
billowing
in liquid hope
words & water 

Friday, September 1, 2017

moving between




this is the quiet hollow of pain before surrender
dull in its persistence
ringed in quilts of cotton & ginger
chilled
on this last hot alfalfa night of a long dry summer
hollow
but not
gnawing
grinding
hollow
of this piquant hour
midnight
restless mooned midnight
where somewhere on this last hot alfalfa night
a boy in a red truck waits under the big dipper for a girl in a hurry to grow up
hollow
but not
timeless
stillness
fullness
jackson brown plays on a radio from a station just south of chicago
hollow buzz buzzing of energy puzzled into heart and thighs hot
the last hot alfalfa night of a long, dry summer
on this last hot alfalfa night
cotton & ginger