Friday, September 27, 2013

night visible




















willow-curly with trembled femininity
pursued against the chipped & sullen eaves
sun upside-down as a hedge-apple-cake
words buried under the yellows & red of fall
f
  a
     l
        l
           i
              n
                 g . . .
frost eager at the gate of laurel bark
as
porcelain berry sings of
indigo-blue stillness
a dream of evening's new moon
hanging moments of willow-curly 

thursdays











Nudged off the concrete steps 
Into the maple tree
Into pieces of dandelion parachute lightness
Catching the wind into the blue of this day
Pulled & lifted into visions of use & service
Unwound, released & reaching
Open & available
To be present & vital to the boned & feathered
To write, to fly, to soar into the something more .....
To complete the flight 
To follow thru
With no fear of heights
No fear of the landing
Maple Tree shimmering … 
Flight into me 

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

terra firma













there is a point in the course of my day that sets me back upon my heels ...
a point where i realize that all that has come before pales in comparison to all
that will be ...
a point that stops me in my step
halts my breath and
i
close
my eyes .
a song is barely heard
there in
the chaos of the stars ...
is it ....
9 crimes ?
useless desires ?
hero ?

i'll be ?
ah. favorite  damn disease .
yes.
and is is raw & raunchy & steeped in jamison & guinness .... smoke & red
it is blade sharp and hurts like amotherfucker as i rake it across my wrist ....
my
eyes
close
and there in the blackness i
see
&
know
the terra firma black cherry spaces

hold space

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

enough of me












The need to burn,
to give the daemons some sky
in order to move past this grateful-stasis spot
shift into saffron affirmation
oh! trinity lineage be damned;
experts at divine expectation and divinity rising
all the while distilling emotions
for song & mournful moon-dancing on the Volga;
reformation & academics
god trumps all things human
here is my confessional :
spark the tinder …..  burn



five-thirty


I leave little trace here ....
no crumbs of opal dust
no tail of the comet
linear & polite
shadows behave
sunlight fades into night
wind circles to land upon wisteria & hops
matter shifting, folding
bringing
inner to wonder-light
unruffled birdsong
twilight