Sunday, October 28, 2018

vokzal














What is it that attracts?
that pulling together of fragments:
moths to flame
hands to hearts
ink to page 
polarized metal
butter to knives 
skin to skin
eyes to the garden of possibility 
tetthered 
to 
aubergine rye-whiskey dreams
the torn edges of leather coats
and
childhood gardens
a myriad of particles collide in recogniton 
something shared 
something desired 
gestures seem innocous
thrown down as carmine on leaves 
and borealis wounds 
a minutiae of fluttered moments hanging breathless
the plethora of pleasure gleamed in the capture 
intellect to intention 
light to shadow
close to open 
wings to weather 

magnectic north 
lies in the curve 
of you 

of two forty in autumn


felted
with the welter of deep winter waters 
swirling skirted surrender 
of this brilliant brillo ruby rub 
electric current caught 
between 
the 
layers
of
design
and 
delight 
oh tingled tender fire 
lay upon these shoulders 
with the roaring need of a thousand storms 
hold fast 
and tremble crimson under me 

mirage

stand before the silver
in the trembling golden of early autumn
Mercury wind
raises the palpable tremor of forgiveness
diamond cut the sky blue to blue
to blue
shimmering this day
in sorrow's pale mire
truth fights for tenure falling
falling
leaves to shape shifting cooling ground
wonder chases the shadows to fullness
holding
holding
this light




Thursday, October 18, 2018

the wren

of this autumn morning standing
tethered
to ten thousand things
of water & weight
the wren stands feathered
upon the birch silver--shimmering in
its morning waking
waiting upon the wind
waiting upon the sun
to shift its roots to winter's edge
breathing upon the light of this day

waiting on the wind


Saturday, October 13, 2018

the gray


it lays on me
the expectation of words
mango butter melting
rich
then gone
seeped to cells
rolling beating pulsing
on the dust
of
my ordinary hours circling circling
tasting of powder sugar sunshine
and
October's sidewalk at nine o'clock in the evening .....

Monday, October 8, 2018

waking to saturn


surely
we should write in the sky with cinnamon toast points
ruby chalk the leaves to play red rover among stars
peeling otter bark from taffy streets to feed our souls relief
crystal rolled to open
pine & honeyed
if you close your eyes just right
softly with the dreams of your six-year-old self
close your eyes
and lift the scarred corners of your peach-pit mouth
to rise
to fly
to the constellation just north of the meridian

of
you

Monday, October 1, 2018

October

words lie inside my vanilla bean heart
but i possess no tools to scrap them clean
I am the moon obscured by rain
gazing on their unremarkable roundness
cool my bones as i become more transparent
waning in sorrow's weather
this day