Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Alice & the Hatter

Alice lives in a room with no windows and doors
safe from her dreams, she can't think anymore
too caught up with pages and decisions bred
too unremarkable to know where to lay her head
anywhere she chooses
anywhere she falls
eyes closed upon the morrow
eyes closed forevermore
Alice hides her face from all the swirling motes
safe inside her own life
Alice dreams no more

The Hatter plays the game 

with the smoothness of a king
all believing he is foolish
he is nothing what he seems
he turns his gaze on Alice, there locked up in her womb
he toys with her affection
he steals a kiss and
Alice peers at starshine, there between the cracks
Alice feels a stirring, and pushes something back
pushes with a strength no one thought she had
     except for the Hatter 

who knew down in his heart
that Alice was his truth, light-keeper of the dark
sent to tame his madness, sent to still his tears

Alice and the Hatter--forever in the mirror
stashing all tomorrows, with dreams as old as time
tending their own madness
coloring outside the lines 

Monday, October 12, 2015

the smell of leaves burning

Can a hole become art ?
to become not a hole, but something transformed
full & complete ?
refashioned with found objects; that silver monopoly dog,
blue bandanas, the sharp cut of sorrow,
cornfields & meadowlarked loss
autumn hued & weaved with blood-orange thread
to shuttered gasps & ooo's of admiration
can a hole be not a hole
patched with time & tender & song to mend it's fibrous fragility
looming itself into Indian sunset ribbons of amber richness
who am I to love so well, yet so wrong ?
but not wrong
more like that hole
strangely, ironically
the startling realization that it has shifted
quickened & sharp
the forecasted boulder snow
self lies in the punched surrender to the puppet masters demand
listening & dancing to the bubbled needs of others
steadfastly refusing to howl at the moon & shine a light into the need
rake the leaves reverently into the
revolution is where ?
in the crumpled pages of secret whispers & timeless sureness
in the ability to recognize strength in weakness
and in the turquoise gleam of happy hanging in a thiefed reel
fighting for a heart-path is a wicked & quixotic endeavor
tempered by the accepted - righteous is not always so
loneliness carves it's own mask
as the struggle & pull of need creates red
welcome the rhythm of this night in
bits of story & stars
dance & celebrate the patched hole
gather up copper, bronze & scarlet-dragon leaves
fire it up
trust it's light

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

the space between

in the swollen space between crickets and cooling
comes the moment
of crystal presence
briefly glimpsed
we catch the flick of it's vanishing tail
like some humminbird-comet darting across the dome of day
then gone ...
such beautiful quiet 

Monday, October 5, 2015

hand print

objects have always emanated a particle presence :
warm to cool 
porcelain cup to weave of linen
hands that trace the curve of a wall 
wood & weather 
the rusted thin wires of a birdcage 
counters cracked with age and baking as 
heat & time 
wraps & welds 
fingertips roll across the corners of books 
dusty with captain kangaroo morning stillness 
tick tock tick tock 
the air we breathe
secrets locked ….
hold …

0 degrees ( deux )

Mercury in retrograde
drained of everything but elementary desires
.... eat
drink me ...
my smallness intrigues me.
i am invisible
orphaned from the moon and you ....
untethered and unbalanced
drink ....
searching for definition
ANY definition !!
against the yellowed october leaves
of the
curly willow outside my glass walls ...
outside the definition of me
is it cold ? is it past ? are we there yet ?
this vacant inability to feel .
Mercury at 0 degrees .
pierce this numbness ; pull me closer ...
fill in the void with colored pencils, indigo and the scent of pumpkin ...
bounce me back to Jupiter
and the hope and
pinch of something true ....