Tuesday, February 14, 2017

unhooked


float
inflated by the breath of Desdemona
and
whispers uttered from lips chapped by
truth & mango salsa
untethered
no copper wires hooked into skin thin & forgiving
objects seen from Venus
appear
smaller & more harmless than they do
in
mirrors
and other shiny things
winds define the welter
as
movement smells of dandelion snow & blackbirds
buoyant & sustained 

I am the rising
and
the fall . .

drala


dancing upon my skin
dustmotes bite 
beneath cardamon bones 
jeweled glimpses of always 
shadows 
light 
the pace & breath of now:
yellow shirt
plaid mini skirt 
untucked hope 
a yearn to collide against 
1,440 minutes 
of 
summer's blossom 
sun thirsting
thunder bursting 
windows down
to Springsteen or Taylor 
hand tucked beneath your blue jean leg 
forecasts a succulent promise 
your skin drips vanilla--nutmeg 
upon my tongue 
capture me for 24 hours 
of a brand new day of summer's heat 
lemonade cooling 
slow moving 
green grass wafting to welcome 
backs arched 
arms grasping 
breath barely lasting 
listening to crickets
under a firefly strawberry moon
we drink
we laugh 
we do....
for 
every every 
sweep sweep sweep  
of the second hand 
turn --
give me an autumn day 
washed in apples crisp falling
cooling 
cooling 
richness clasped to clary sage 
smells pierce the glass to rising 
cooling 
cooling 
now ... winter's gift 
of 
bracing wind to arms embrace 
snow 
falling 
falling 
to these 1,440 ticks 
of tic-toc
of clock 
take in without clinging
tasting without touch
collide beyond breath 
of being known 
before 
the 
fire of these stolen 
afternoon
daydreams ....
dance upon my skin 








Monday, February 13, 2017

Epitaph










scrape the black ink, those particles of bits & pixels from the white white white
scrape them into the mason jar kept in your pocket
for
summer's fireflies & lunar moths
tumbled brilliance secreted for the corner-times, the grey days of winter long
scrape
and
hold the lid down tight as you press it to the fire-line
skin allows such porous knowing
lean against the trail of snow along the willow bark
lean & fill
with the enormity of the domed misty gray
capture this biting chill, this clutched sting
shake the jar
and
de-light
in the ordinary comfort
of
chaos & contrast

Sunday, February 12, 2017

a crocus emerges

somewhere along the lines
between today and 2009
you got the best of me
might have gone to others with a thicker ribbon tied
against the shore of sinew & sorrow
and yes, it goes back further than that
back to when moonlit & grass fell upon my back
time paused in that collide
trembled wonder imprinted
imprinted there ... stop. there.
there
reflection holds no prize
one love escapes the price
should'a
could'a
would'a
remained half-human
but instead became immortal under your wings
feathered with the antiquity of amber
even gossamer lingers sometimes
you got the best of me
between whispered goodbyes
teasing entreaties & lullabies
imprinted there.
i thought you got the best of me
but
i
am
the best of me

i am the sun as it moves across the blue-green jacquard
i am the smell of ground waking
sorrow quaking
its trembled spectrum shimmers
beneath my aging scars--faded to pearls
under this Aquarius sun
a crocus comes ...


Saturday, February 11, 2017

of sixes & sevens . . .


I lost my anger in the corner pocket of table six
or maybe it was in june of '68 ... in the red cadillac on the way to the parade
better to be invisible under stars & wooden desks
than to be seen for a creature dressed
in cyan & tattered sensitivity
able to absorb sunlight at a rate greater than or equal to
the speed of light
I am forgetting my mother's middle name:
Elaine

anger was eaten with violets for breakfast in june of '68
just after my mouth was washed out with soap for saying "shitshitshit"
merely imitating the song of meadowlarks eating violets for breakfast
Elaine

Elaine
give to me your feathers & your strength
your wit & whiskey-wisdom orange paisley'd
smelling
of pine & sunshine & tomatoes

I lost my anger curled up behind a sofa at midnight
wearing flannel pajamas & watching the world in black & white
roll past
on a radio flyer
sunshine me home life o life ....
sunshine me home to the corner pocket of table six
touch my cheek
Elaine
Elaine
I am my mother's name

Friday, February 10, 2017

45P/Honda-Mrkos-Pajdušáková


sharp 
distinct the smell of waking ground 
stark 
this night sky / domed endless
joined 
to the blue-green luminescence 
masked by shadows / ash to bark 
owl's call echoes off brick & bone
walking, quiet returns / thrumming / pervading 
steps muffled by 
the envelope of leaving winter 
the song of this full snow moon 

eclipse 

me 


Thursday, February 9, 2017

white on white

there is a place to lay it ...
here upon the white on white
crosshatched text replete with pause
darting as gray finches about the birch
spilling seed from beaks too impossibly small to matter. Much.
dart, feed, flight ....
feathers litter the ground
impossible to pick up with cold fingers
as words so oft stall within their tips
paused--waiting for more air? more feathers?
here upon this page I leave my emptiness, my fullness ....
sorrow & sight
wonder & weariness
a lament for the yellow-tinged memory of wind & weight
however,
i have also dumped words as a velvet bag of marbles
sparkling, dull and difficult
into his capable-steeled arms
too cumbersome
too vined & untethered
too mercury-silver
forgive me and thank you
for
there is a place to hold it
give it a name & pin it in place
only to lose it amongst the debris that is forgotten & frayed
there is a place to lay it
these words & weather
here alongside the fault-line of tender allowing ....
be mine
white on white