Wednesday, April 25, 2018

don't feed the wildlife


could be dangerous to your ordinary

you may find a mandala burned into your soul
resembling the Ghost of Jupiter Nebulae
by a road rash upon the palms of your hands

don't be predictable
don't be an asshole
be curious
be kind
learn to lean in with awakened mind


find the amber nugget of today
open your hand
blow it away

65 miles to Hazard

turn from the highway
fields of prairie grass
north to the river
beyond the moon's grasp
thrumming of tires
rumble of gravel bare
timeless movement
'neath stars & night air
solitary becomes the warrior
weight & welter silver
silent grey-white of bone
harsh will come the winter
yet here of smallness
amongst fields harvest
here one with evening
light greets darkness
nocturne velvet cooling
trees to whispers dance
lonely sits the broken
clarity enchants
easy will break daylight
swift the days will fly
heart touches all sorrow
joy rides the fireflies
turn from the highway
fields of prairie grass
north to the river
embrace the moon's grasp


don't know when it happened exactly

~ which hour of which day ~

the palatable exubruance & thirst for sun 
gave way 
to a lament for the moon

my movement
my being 
my hours 
quiet unruckus'd preparation
ducks-in-a-row clarity 
corners cleaned of cobwebs 
piles of life linear with logic 
dust swept devotedly 
from the totem objects of my accumulation 
flannel smooth
moonlight quickening 
tassels trimmed & pressed 
set free from lingering gypsy dreams

as if

should the wind be just right from that place of sun 
well then ... 
everything will be

as if 

I was never here 
or maybe 
my departure will come with
no burden
no adjustment 
or maybe 
I am just merely passing thru
pausing here 

for the 
just right 

Tuesday, April 24, 2018


filled the air about you with
your words were your work
your laughter a providence of eternity
steeped in scotch & soda
your blue eyes clear-seeing-truth-seeking
everyone's friend, everyone's brother
my father
who would sit up all night to watch
lightning & thunder


I believed you immortal
until the very end
when the coolness of your skin
bruised my soul
leaving me breathless
you left me on a morning in October
emptiness became the air
sorrow my prayer
an ancestral charm dropped from the heavens to land
upon this phoenix heart
in summer's endless blue land

fierce love rising

victorious moon

by wind
by storm
and rivers of golden cups
linear burning from the hyacinth
               sill of day
rest beneath the three swords
magic manifesting

transformed poppy to sunshine whiskey
a sparrow lands and takes it all away

Ahh, Perseus

my heart has been pinched between
the Milky Way
and the raspberry bush
left to die

Monday, April 23, 2018

before you go

You told me that you loved me
I was listening to Between The World and Me
your telling coated me in armor Jupiter thick
tasting of vanillahoneycherry pie
this telling carved a notch in the inner rings of pink beating tissue
and soothed the scarred edges
quieting my ghosts and tempering the blue

have a good day darlin'
... see you come the moonlight

Saturday, April 21, 2018

the kind

i am not the kind of girl with a golden heart and wide open arms
no narcissus, no contrite orchid blooming
I am not one who coos at babies and vulnerability 
am not of pink bows and kneeling in pews alabaster 
too much love burns the kindness and soft spots 
too much bruise thickens the viscera and sharpens awareness 
no lace, no tempered pane--no black and white 
gray is the tea I brew, the color I wrap about these bones 
contrast defines, knowing binds 
no sympathy for the devil, no hymns to the heavens 
I am not the kind of girl who opens the door without thinking about the door 
for a thousand and ten years 
so if you're waiting ...
learn a song and steal my burnished heart 
with your unbridled burn 
with your hands for craft and edges enfolding 
with your sure-fast gaze for a thousand and ten years  
I am not of pepper, monster trucks and short shorts 
no black-velvet-elvis upon my wall
no tether to the birch of a smokey mountain morning 
hyacinth nectar tethers me 
something better wakes me 
what drips from these arms is 
not moved by the ordinary 
not stilled by love 
I am not the kind of girl who believes in temperance, jesus and circuses 
I am not unlike the honey bee 
honey bees cling to the sweetness, the sting and the soar 
of wind and weather 
the better than love kind