room #106

forgive me for wearing the black lace stockings
with the pink men's dress shirt ... it was too cliche
too obvious the image i wanted to burn into your marrow ...
forgive me the openness & adaigo of intimacy
we
were
made for one another
we were cut from the same-smooth-cosmic-pebble
( it is a carmel-topaz-color )
downwind
we reek of sex & solitude
forgive me the surrender as it pierced your steel skin
and your heart
( ahhh , we are so fucked )...
bowing into the risk of the moment
we are easy . .  and
we talked of faith, forgiveness, love & lady gaga
the bones of your head, the contours of your face
now lie where once my fingerprints existed
transformed by your fragility & sorrow
transformed by tracing the shadows & light of you
your scars sing to me of heavy woolen blankets,  fire & silver
lying in your arms is called belonging
and today rain wets the longing .. .
making it immediate & pungent
forgive me for awakening

grief

this is where sorrow resides

here

between hours & light

this hour where the only sound is the

morning dove's lament

hollow & transported

maple seeds whirl to the ground

in direct ratio

to the swift rolling of the cumulus clouds

closing that sky-blue window

of daylight

the bottom is not

really the bottom

it is found here in the sideways portion of our show

tilted & lonely

stripped of expectation & heart

hold

your breath

and bear that weight

as

suddenly

the wind shifts

and

the air is heavy with basil & peonies

and it smells of rain & stillness

inspired by hope & #19 . . .

gypsy calling
white-washed walls
elephants & tattered halls
step with me down into the canvas dark
step with me down & guard the spark
come, listen to my story
and paint the lies
listen to my heart
and bury the cry
trust the key
though silent & ethereal
awash in grey with a trace of the material
pick a brush of the finest bamboo-silk
layered with basiled  honeyed-milk
we follow the trail of something more ...
we follow the trail to open doors ....
hidden by bowers, thorns & deception
we travel down in rose-colored perception
shaking off shadows soaked in rye
shaking off fear laced with sighs
unlace the mirth & tackle the adventure
open wide the glass & comfort the pretenders
gypsy calling
white-washed walls
elephants & tattered halls . . .

now 2:17 ...

1:10 AM
quiet here
except for the clock
ticking
ticking rather incessantly
but that's the nature of clocks isn't it ?
to tick tick tick .....
regardless of the ratio of quiet stillness to the passing of time
ticking
ticking rather incessantly
suddenly i am chilled
i glance outside to the darkness where no clock ticks
but a train whistles & the wind blows
still ...
and I know that it is time for bed
no great poem will be written tonight
no profound thought or game changer
no extraordinary breakthrough
just an ordinary late of night
chilled, quiet & tired
still
the clock ticks

April 1st

as you walk there along the broken, cobbled sidewalk

close your eyes .

close your eyes and feel ...

feel that ?!?

the wind against your face

slowing your gait

caressing your contours

close your eyes

and listen ....

listen with every every infinitesimal particle of self

listen with very the essence of your being

listen & feel ....

feel that sun piercingly bright, pressing upon the folds of your eyelids

feel & listen

as in this moment you are

timeless

white bones strengthen against the warm rhythm of air

wind shimmers boldly thru the trees

moving you into a place & space

capable & free

golden and

timeless

youth straddles the currents of april's wind

hold out your arms

and as you feel the weight of the world & the wind

suddenly it lifts you to a place & space

that smells of dreams & lilacs & yesterdays possibility ....

trust it

go now ...

close your eyes

#10

"was never bright nor still at sea

no wave upon the blue

quiet there in cosmic air

and the pretty ones flew true

embrace the kcowrebbej you maiden fair
the toes the tickle, the arms that free
embrace the bujuj fish & find
the beautiful hctanredanb
she could not find her feather of air
briefly the minutiae lover she shunned
so wakened by the mutmut root
and laid in whirling stupidity
but instead of laying in stupor
she flew suddenly and
the kcowrebbaj with soft lips of cool-ice
fled
smoothly thru the blue water
and not a sound it made
a, b !! a, b !! not at all in sync it went
the feather of air fell without sound or fury
and she gathered it upon her back
never to be seen again with that
did she wed the kcowrebbej ?
fleeing away in water blue you sullen girl
oh suojbarf night . weep and cry
she bemoaned thru tears of grief.

was never bright nor still at sea
no wave upon the blue
quiet there in cosmic air
and the pretty ones flew true"

# 9

coffee . . .
coffee & birdsong . . .
foggy grey morning
ready for change
ready for spring
ready
on this grey-morning-saturday
and so the finch lands upon the budding curly willow
neither sex or sunshine or worms
not with drink or diversion
maybe everyone has holes they can not fill
even birds ...
idiotic & sophomoric
birdsong
to learn to love the one were with ....
we are never what we seem to be
we fall apart
we fall together
we sing
we drink coffee
we fall
we rise
what i don't hold before me was never mine
and we love through the fire of time & falling
a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush