Wednesday, October 28, 2015

stretch

i have a remarkable ability to remain very present while at the same time traveling east in a direct
air-current line to where you are to sit in the warmth of your breath to inhale the very same air that you do while maintaining the illusion of presence and attention to all the things requiring said presence and attention as i lean upon the maple just outside my window feeling the harsh coarseness of its bark against the thin paper fragility of my skin and soul i can be tethered upon this land this life long enough to weave a coat from the tendrils of mind and memory tracing tracing back to you back to us and that day that you remembered remembered that we were always leaning one upon the other water to polaris fruit to hand board to nail ship to sea surrender to hollow skin to bark
amidst the smell of leaves burning hearts yearning hands leading souls all souls fly away to the point of ignition with light transfixed by the play of shadow and sun upon the very same maple's leaves turned to saffron sunshine cooling to the march of winter's breath stay with me
stay. with. me.
here against that solemn dusty bark stripped of clothes and artifice and the possibility of healing becomes a promise of illusion's hour 

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
soon
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, keeper of light & dark
sent to tame his madness, sent to still his tears
alice and the Hatter will be 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
comes
the startling realization that it has shifted
quickened & sharp
as
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
Hole
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

there
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
gone
glimpsed
then gone ...
such beautiful quiet 

Monday, October 5, 2015

the edge of things ...




distance becomes blue 
seeping to bones of linen lost 
prism pressed in equations
exponentially greater than the speed of light
particles fractured into a thousand spinning suns 
ringing with the vibrations of whiskey & wait 
blue + linen becomes a softer blue 
content with the sun
and
these scattered dust motes 
of the far far away ... 






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 
yellow-parakeet-memory 
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 …
seek 

0 degrees ( deux )



empty
Mercury in retrograde
drained of everything but elementary desires
.... eat
drink
drink me ...
my smallness intrigues me.
i am invisible
hollow
orphaned from the moon and you ....
untethered and unbalanced
eat
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 ....

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Castanea











spiny burr
clustered on the branch
tufted husk of pale armor
guarding the cream inner upholstered flesh
smooth softness
grooves adhered tight to pellicle
gentle pressure popping free
one, two, three
sweet fruits to hold
of
umber rich revealed
seed to ripeness
outside to in
spine to furrow
hard to smooth
captive youth