The Spine

mojave...

2011-02-18T22:03:00.000-08:00

heat dances on the sienna road
like fairies at dusk, humming
and shivering in delight.
the sun says to the moon good night
but vapors rise, too, combing the balmy air,
slicking the desert hair.
everything awakens with the eve
all pricks sharpen self-aware.

the floor is breathing
changing sands, rolling in minute demand;
a sparse falcon call.
much waiting is spent here,
tense and coiled.
the voice of the travelling brush
will promise the river ain't deep.

slow clicking armor of arched menace
humbles the silence abroad.

A Quick, Thriving Existence...

2011-02-18T21:25:00.000-08:00

Embedded
Portions
Staggering
In line

A man walks by
Noticed

By me.

Brilliance
In notation.

Fear resounds
In his eyes.

Eyes tell the truth.
Lies egress in vermouth.

Wait
And gin grins.

Then I say Hello,
And the world spins.

Needles under arms,
Legs over pins.

Lineage of thought,
Emotions stem
From an unclaimed lot

Melting away
In the proverbial pot

Under the gazing heat.

Untruth is sweet
For a time.

So is my youth
In your path of fantasy.

Shout out my Name
Over every land and tree,
Rock and sea.

Then like a falcon
It all comes back to me.

Grass grows quick
Around your stone.

I am once again,
Alone.

listless...

2011-01-19T00:10:00.000-08:00

Try and try again,
A banner rotting in the wind,
Dwindling away with every move
Because the life is gone and
We know it.
There is nothing to salvage, only
To drag at our feet.
Feeding a stillborn with eyes closed.
Back to back, a perfect canal forms
Through which our tension swims.
That one thing is steady.

Lie and lie again,
That was your proud motto
Etched into the forehead of subconscious.
So insidious it sublimely stained
The wedding garment of Hopeful Days.
Though its train fell behind and thus
was left blind
To the blissless hour arms
Ahead.

untitled...

2011-01-18T13:30:00.000-08:00

I,
I am being wrapped in the red folds.
Heartache and knotted core,
Head fogged with smokey imagination;
Mystery, fantasy, beauty, whirling.
Your life is what I see in there,
As humdrum common as you think it to be.
I demand to stare at its center;
Unblinking, strong, focused on your figure,
Eye upon an eye.
There is peace in black iridescence
For now I lie awake and troubled,
Lips pursed, bitten / thought, hard.
Blood pumps through heart;
Rhythm of internal roads.
See that day our hands touch in greeting?
Our essences will clarify at last!
After such dilution with illusions from excursions
Of toiling, smokey minds.
If we do not leap in every manner
From indeed our first glance, then
Nothing is true.
It is known to measure out only in a feeling;
Less, a logical mind.
But logic of emotion coaxes the heart,
And it must go loyally forth.
Adoration. Your embrace must find me
Before collapse encroaches.
Give generously of yourself.
And I will do the same, Love.

know this...

2011-01-11T22:17:00.001-08:00

And please know my dear
that I do think oh so highly of you
so lovely
that your pedestal is founded
by the clouds and
even of the stars and matter
that inhabit the universe.
but that I am stranded exploring
the throes of my mind
like Debussy once said,
a single lute wandering in the fog,
contemplating alone in unknown places,
fiercely forging ahead
aloud.

You are beautiful and I,
I meddle deeply,
so deeply into the tendons
of a thought and an image
it perhaps can ruin itself;
cross over and misunderstand
the anatomy of what is.

Be well,
follow those impulses that may
destroy
but may also
delight.

It is the path of truthfulness.

device...

2011-01-11T21:51:00.000-08:00

Why must I,
I worry about such things
When they,
They know what such things
Are about.
I will not pretend
That you are dumb
Stupid, foolish, ridiculous
But you may look ridiculous.
Perhaps there is too much
Mistrust in my heart.
But I believe you are of sound mind
And of deep soul.
Too many things can happen
In one’s mind
But it is obvious what is
Being communicated, I think.
What IS
Being communicated?
Are you alone?
Am I alone in thinking these things?
Am I too forgone in my thought?
Too far out in the field?
Too high in the branch?
Perhaps.
Because I see so many more branches
Than you.
I see scapes that are impossible.
At least, for you.
There may be the ability
To climb so high but
You choose not to do so.
And I purse my lips
Pondering your whereabouts.
I am neither good nor bad but a woman
Who penetrates too harshly the many plateaus
Of our time.
Walking and wearing out many a pair of shoes.
Leather tongues licking sand
Growing lighter with the sun’s hand.

And then,
I find I express myself
And then am met with this blindness,
This blind wall that pretends so well,
When well enough it knows
The pretense as a cloak to be sewn
By its own hand.
I am wise to this kind.
And then I think,
Shall I continue on? Shall I explore?
I have not yet set foot in this desert
That I have explored in theory.
That I have explored in my mind. This sahara,
It has danced before my eyes a million times
Like a mirage that it should contain.

I am a woman
And I feel that things should be understood
However life is not so fair
And sexes not so able
Thus I cannot be so foolish.
But may I give you, sir,
The benefit of the doubt?
May I?
No, I see that I may not. Otherwise it
Is giving a dog a cane.
That is not to be cruel
But fair in its logic.

Walk the floor of your subconscious
So that you may understand the net
In which you entrap us both.
I cannot continue in this manner
Else I be one for asylum
And you for parks and recreation.

The Boy and the Ring...

2011-01-10T00:42:00.000-08:00

Little boy, skipping with distraction,
One button aloof from its partner, cotton
Flapping carefree in his bounce.
A sparkle prehends his eye in the street.
He bends to the mouth of the gutter,
Lips agape and curiosity peaked like his hairline.
His tiny, wet fingers pull a ring from the foliage,
Densely covered but for a brilliant twinge
In the sopping leafy mess.
The weight of contemplation meets ear to collar,
The color of this precious gem narrowing
His newborn gaze.
An arcane effect
Had this ring on this boy. A beauty
Too profound, a history only felt
Within a palm.
Unknowingly, his heart quivered
As if pierced by an edge of the captive stone.
It is in question which one is in captivity,
Despite a pocketed flash.

On went the jaunt and jolly day,
Leather tongues licking the concrete way.

Untitled

2011-01-07T16:31:00.000-08:00

Pushing things into the room for crowded measure
In the hope that space will shrink
And this visage will duck and disappear.
Yet it stays stubbornly
Like a child proving a point, but also
An angel hovering masterfully
Throwing all other pieces into shadow,
Thoughts into the peeling wallpaper
(To be found again later).

Dance in the embrace of the shadow
Holding wistfully to nothing and
Everything at once.
While memories languish into white oblivion
(Or are covered by the white feathered wing)
To be seen another day, another time.

Now,
Now is what you own.
I am yours, now.

Villanelle of Time and Space

2010-12-27T12:50:00.000-08:00

Soon shall we meet in time and space
laid carefully out by nimble hands.
A perfect world is already traced

in which we sigh heavily, face to face
silencing all of life's demands.
Soon shall we meet in time and space.

So near are we, dreams interlace
and sink together in the hour's sands.
A perfect world is already traced

around a dormant love in glass encased;
a wonder unclaimed in all the lands.
Soon shall we meet in time and space.

And all things before? Gone, erased.
Forget kindred, cousins, families, clans.
Our perfect world is already traced

for we lie content in its embrace
without ever touching hand to hand.
Soon shall we meet in time and space
in a perfect world already traced.

The Drug of Dreams...

2010-12-19T23:02:00.001-08:00

Dreams. Afloat like the air is a puddle and they are the gasoline. Running ribbons of infinite color melding, blending, holding hands and twirling across the dance floor of unconsciousness. The entirety of our beings poured faithfully into its pool, day in, day out, minute by minute, extracting ourselves from the scalding warmth of reality that smolders at the deepest hearth and letting the possibilities lick our pain. Bathing in the dream; a tub full of wild waters enveloping our sore flesh, wan and wary from present life. Dreaming is the coal to the constant locomotive. But it is also the bubble inside which many are alone, peerless and adrift; hovering away from the atmosphere of truth.

Dream One

I lie, a divided slump between the wall and the floor. One hand struggles like a hangman’s foot for leverage; the other clutches weakly at a thin strand of promise, also known as hope. I suckle it for strength and gently, for preservation. I lie, numb and fatigued, steps away from the mouth of my home. Or is it the mouth of the world? I dream and nothing else. I cry for someone that is not there and will not be, nor has ever even been. An unkindness of ravens sit in the tree outside my window, waiting with a juried patience.

Dream Two

I am high from dreaming, courageous and full like the blossoming of a rose. My head is in the fragrant fumes of the future, filling my senses with mysterious clarity and my heart with song and light. Trumpets burst and soar, brightly cascading in space. I cast my desires into the worldly ocean, reeling in shimmering dream after shimmering dream. My depth of engagement outgrows the darkest part of the sea and I dissolve into the sky, weightless and beautiful. The dream is life. I am the dream.

It is the fervor behind the grasp and the balance we maintain that allows the drug of dreams to culture our highest spirit.

Complex...

2010-12-15T02:13:00.003-08:00

The palms stand singly and awkwardly
Not knowing how to dance to the hum
Of the square in the building.
Clumped below, the green children
Vary in age and social range
Common of a classroom.
Steps echo then fade dimly out
On the concrete boundary of the world.

Spectres of community hover still
Behind blinds, behind doors.

Mad by the Hour

2010-11-21T23:07:00.002-08:00

I go mad by the hour of your hand,
Descending desert into the dust.
My dreams are sinking into the sand.

Play on, wind whispers low to the band,
And do what one can, if not what one must.
I go mad by the hour of your hand.

The sun and the moon rise over the land
Like two heavy stones with wanderlust.
My dreams are sinking into the sand

Roughly, as mothers in labor demand
To be done and give life with one thrust!
I go mad by the hour of your hand

Which speeds through youth, then reprimands
Me, a miser counting my time and trust.
My dreams are sinking into the sand

Their faces look back and don’t understand
Being swallowed by their maker's disgust.
I go mad by the hour of your hand.
My dreams are sinking into the sand.

Ajar (haiku)

2010-11-08T01:10:00.005-08:00

Violent contrasts of
light/dark; bodies palely glow.
A shadow passes.

Cactus Dream

2010-11-05T22:54:00.006-07:00

Over the angry road always loom clouds of forgiveness
ready to touch the shoulder of all cowboys in the dust.

The one travelling may find a fog about his furied mind
swaddling the tantrummed spirit who stomps about.
As the red dust settles and unfurrows in the folds,
a golden ball lies quietly in the depths of the well's water
and also among well wishes.

The other, a figure found in the line of tempermental sight
will be touched lightly by a reminding breath of sky; a hand
is drawn in friendship, not in war or harshness.
Furious spurs melt and warm silver slivers
beat into the desert air.

Lips of the blue curl round the mouth of the well,
breathing. The water stirs with life.

Reflections on ever evolving points of water pop
lucidly and rapidly. Happily the sun dances above
and below, sinking a heavy, golden ray
to the bottom of the well.

Imagine goodness in the mind of a twin;
doubly charismatic when shared,
blind to all physical eyes.

You sit at the mouth of the well gazing
into the eyes that are yours
as well as the eye that is hot in the sky.
A sprawling hand dips evenly in.
The lost golden ball just in reach behind you.

Light Black

2010-07-11T12:43:00.003-07:00

Tonic moon loitering
like a backlight in the light black
sky, swaying slightly with an ethered grin.

It may as well be day that you hang
solitary, stone-still in a fog
divinely blinding and comforting.

I will find you because I feel you.
Drawn by the cosmic pheromone of you, Moon,
floating across our palette of existence.

2010-05-15T12:42:00.003-07:00

Sweet enchantment, the sunshine sings.
It saturates the late morning, a satin feeling
spreads and wraps the heart in daisies.
The sky blinks in bird shadows;
Nature blinks with each wing in the vast blue.
Warmth washes my feet with incense
of beauty, peace and timelessness.

The Icy Gape...

2008-12-08T09:15:00.003-08:00

The icy gape
Beams like a big, black frog,
Crouched, with languid lantern-eyes
Patiently awaiting the gander at dawn.

They Are Muses; They Amuse...

2008-08-12T11:48:00.005-07:00

Beauty resides beside you
Who looks at violets,
Never roses;
Who discloses
Truth unknowingly so
Sending brave little hearts
From to and to fro.

Lovely, Red-Ivory Regret...

2008-08-04T09:24:00.015-07:00

Oh, abandoned Animal of our night,
Injury is acclaimed to
The ivory revenge of my mouth
For first
Your foaming jaws sank into me
So resonantly...so resonantly...
And since refused to ease
My pleasant suffering.

Now we bleed both
Lying side by twitching side
Furiously linked by light
Of our fading, regretful eyes.

Knowing now wanders in the mists that rise
From our steaming wounds,
Glistening as dawn-born dew.
Blood runs like time, too quick!,
Draining hard into the setting sun,
A likeness of what may have been
Such a blithe, brilliant rose, whole, anew!

To Knowing and to Depth,
to Blazing and to Indulgence,
to Islands and to Unquenchable Thirsts,
I bid adieu.

Animal,
I will wait again for you.

Small Doses...

2008-06-08T12:05:00.003-07:00

Deepseated is the body of this malady,
binding the chest with such loving force,
like an angry hug.
Embraced by bad blood when pulling away
is to pull the key of a grenade.
Better to remain attached and tense,
a bead of sweat is nothing to a smithereen.

Slowly press against the blade
so death, not pain, will remain delayed.

one unchanging, one in the past...

2008-01-10T20:31:00.002-08:00

lying is lead
dragging all to floor
its a layer of skin
fourth/fifth down or more
finely engrained
in your blood remain
those insidious lies.

seven days...

2008-01-08T12:03:00.002-08:00

twisted
moderated

luscious neck revealed

harmonious times
paused with tense rests
a quarter, a half, seven wholes

seven whole days

of rest
less
ness.

time enough for birth of light
and all life,
for creation but also perhaps death.

for a world revealed

a biting thought
to endure alone
but i've five solitary meals to go
and familiarity sits across the table.

Serpentine...

2007-09-10T08:43:00.001-07:00

I ate your luscious words
With a matchless hunger.
Now,
My tongue curls at the bitterness
With which those morsels
Falsely satiated.

As well as at itself
Does my tongue sputter
For having acquired such poor taste.

Death To The Robin...

2007-08-17T22:06:00.001-07:00

Oh Robin,
Wearied, worn,
Perched as a young one,
Fraught like a goner.
How perky you seem.
How normal you've been.

Yet has the world been
Cruel, dear Robin?
Were you worn
On the sleeve of one
sad life? Gone are
Many that once lovely seemed.

But you seem
Happy still, and have been
Despite the tattered robin
Before a wooden sill worn.
Your song is of one
That mocks a goner

Though indeed gone
At first glance you seemed
(To hell is where you could have been).
It is your mask, Robin,
That is well-worn
To hide a satisfied one.

Unless, that is but one
Way to cover vibrancy gone?
A motion will seem
Alive, but it has been
Mastered by an empty bird. Robin,
What is now worn

Is enough to warn
More than one
Before, they too, are goners.
Let your numb wings seem
Strong, as they have been
For a young, brave robin.

Life is worn well to one
Yet hope seems not yet gone
As the Robin preens as its always been.

Wrapped...

2007-06-21T21:10:00.002-07:00

Endeared to a form
Wrapped softly, soundly
Among the cottony vines,
Between tenuous pink landscapes
And flitting fabrications,
Under the lone birch-eye.

A spurious guardian, I
Sit in a fret
Over topaz cracks in the snow.

Backs break of their own accord.

During The Composition Of A Poem, I...

2007-06-17T21:41:00.006-07:00

During the composition of a poem,
I
Took a hefty shit - well, gave, rather...
Felt self-pity as
I
Bed-bathed in electric warmth
God forbid the climbing bill,
King Kong, King Com-Ed.
I
Almost called dear Mother while
I
Drank and ate all things with cinnamon,
Sugar provided by Gershwin on 98.7.
I
Found the flamenco version of "Killing Me Softly"
Quite boring and the title apropo.
I
Sent six texts, a text sextet
Then stared at a wintry Hokusai
While the world did a poor imitation
On the other side of the pane.
I
Played with word, sound, and mouth,
Picked at a mysterious blister,
A blisterious mister who
Failed to sell me some comfortable shoes.
I
Let the morning resonate
Like a wave in a cave.
It moved me and still moves within
Wetting all sides of my soul's appetite;
This stirring, whirring, foaming ball,
Second beating heart owned
By the poet, I.

During the composition of a poem, I
Contemplated a swell title,
A swelling tidal of laundry
That most likely
I
Will floatingly conquer today,
If not before
The end of this...

I Am A Garden...

2007-06-17T21:40:00.002-07:00

I am sitting behind my own eyes
In an easy chair I mentioned before.
I am too comfortable here
To even emerge past my skin or
Into it again.
Is it possible
To embody the essence of a garden?
I believe that is happening
Now.

Waiting In The Morning...

2007-06-10T18:47:00.004-07:00

Here am I, Patience,
Named by a dawning silhouette;
Donned so by your dreaming lips,
Our Lady of the Creeping Morn.

Three times
Your name ripples through
The still hour,
Envy of all breaths
In its slight stir.

I stroll, feet bare, down
A long, winding stare;
A creature
Content with your image
Until you rise to fill its skin
Like a snake shedding in reverse.

Sleep Dangles Just Out Of Reach...

2007-06-10T18:42:00.003-07:00

A thousand chirps before dawn.
Outside, a steady whir.
Yesterday, who we were...
Ah, they are as still
As the moths in morning.
Amber softly hops the sill
Spackling a stranger's table
Illuminating moments planned, to come.

Outside, the day grows
Before my bleary eyes.
Ah, I pang with motherhood.

Inside, no life but mine here
In the dark youth of time, in
A room that is not mine.
Occasional flutter of a wing, a lid.

Glowing gray tides
Gently topple and foam at my ankles.
Carved shadows wake and stretch.

Life leaks in slow.
Screen-side, a moth stirs furiously
In perfect silence.

Same, Was Never Again...

2007-05-08T12:53:00.001-07:00

Recall,
Riches born in poverty;
Homespun gold, threading
The road between,
Miles of spooling heart.
Paved pulse surpassed hardship
And led to freedom, to fantasy.
You were beautiful.
We lived, solely,
For that first embrace.
Draining day did not defeat
Me, as I was carried
By the Figure of our loveliness.
Only then
Did I grasp permanency.
Same, was never again.

Oh Miles...

2007-04-30T07:54:00.001-07:00

When that trumpet wails,
I think of you;
That smoking visage curls.

Sweet Vapor,
Wrap around me like that
Long,
Dark
Bar.

Sweet Sound,
Drape the shoulders pale
Of every lady slumped so;
Hangin like a cocktail straw
On a thirsty lip
And there ain't nothin else to sip.

Ice lingers. Eyes drop.
Notes drip down
So lips don't dry.
Clarity hits like a warm fuzz.

My mouth curls, too,
When that crying brass
Resounds of you.

Olive Oil Eyes...

2007-04-13T13:58:00.002-07:00

His eyes are olive oil
Dripping on my skin,
Running down my nape,
Pooling
Into an immortal reservoir.

love song of the swan...

2007-04-07T05:54:00.001-07:00

Come with me again.
As an itch never remedies
soothe it with a kiss and walk with me,
wherever we are, then away again
drawing curtains of pitch and spark.
Let them drape and stick on our eyes
as the world moves frame by frame.
The earth lies ahead claimed countlessly
by the shoes of fleeting captors -
our hearts tucked safely in their jackets,
they remain nameless but known in one beat.

I lie next to you with the expanse of the universe
pulling every limb. It lives in a single breath,
hovering like a low and lilting piece of fog.

And in that I found love,
for I held it there each time you drew me ,
a pale of water from a solemn well.
Now, carry me as the light licks our backs
away from it all and back again,
through curtains drawn and glances stolen.

Kiss me, and it will mark the time,
as well as rebirth,
as well as well can be.
Lie here, under the shade of an old oak tree
synchronizing sighs with shedding leaves
and eyes with melodies.

May our graves grow in this place
and music play in the lines of every face.

touch...

2007-04-03T21:34:00.001-07:00

we must remain in contact at all times
on busses, airlines, trains and such
even standing still in various lines

storm hard, you skies, but when they shine
on you - my eyes! - they tremble much
we must remain in contact at all times

in cocooning sheets while others pine
alone, contemplating human touch
even standing still in various lines

behind, in front, while cathedrals chime
noting death, love, experience - so much!
we must remain in contact at all times

while falling, dreaming, even writing rhymes
we allow this lean on a careful crutch
even standing still in various lines

when the earth shifts and sudden clamours climb
assure me with a redeeming clutch
we must remain in contact at all times
even standing still in various lines

blake...

2007-03-05T17:07:00.000-08:00

Do I remind you of mad Sir William Blake?
Might a word from these lips comfort stir?
I speak in my sleep because I am awake.

Accompany me strolling round the lake,
Oh Angel cascading demure.
Do I remind you of mad Sir William Blake

for reasons of dead conversations I take
and how blues in my eye often blur?
I speak in my sleep because I am awake

while the oxen plough, and a fever breaks,
when realms merge well into one. I infer,
do I remind you of mad Sir William Blake?

Uttering holy, the liberties shake
when a scarlet lip will more growl than purr
even deep in a sleep. Because I am awake

know that I hear the connections you make
to a young penholder surely to lure
a likeness to mad Sir William Blake
who spoke in her sleep because he was awake.

admission...

2007-02-28T10:26:00.000-08:00

I'm tired of being sorry, but I am still.
Once again my hands are blushing red.
Now I go to sit and think on the old hill

to let those three words cycle with the windmill
and wish that I were coping raw instead.
I'm tired of being sorry, but I am still.

Let me back away, stumbling into time to kill
as obligation's roped and many led
to go and sit and think awhile on the old hill.

Let me borrow breath or maybe lend me fish gills,
I'm saline-soaked with body full of lead.
I'm tired of being sorry, but I am still

writing out this pithy, piss-poor villanelle.
In this case it might be better nothing said.
Now I go to sit and think on the old hill.

The only warmth from whipping in the wind chill
is afterthought once beaten skin is shed.
I'm tired of being sorry, but I am still.
Now I stay to sit and think on the old hill.

it's tenebrism, actually...

2007-02-27T19:09:00.000-08:00

There we were
fitting oddly shaped blocks
into shapely holes
pre-conceived
finding fit after fit
after fit
after fit
We slipped the hang of it perfectly
over one arm
over our sleeves
next to our hearts
firmly sewn
and let smiles trace the edges of our mouths.

to the angel with a forked-tail...

2007-02-27T19:01:00.000-08:00

what is it like to be carried / far and by and wide and low / on someone's shoulder / sometimes two / or middle back / if one was to be precise / one's weight excruciating / hip bones poking through / scraping against his shoulderblades / and his conscience / a load such as that should /be lifted / but he is untouchable / a zap zing fire to the hand / and to the spirit / and to anyone that sees his burden / (he speaks) /

"Look at the martyr!
For none have a heart
as clenched as mine.
This wretched thing that i bear
forever looms o'erhead.
That which pained me once,
carved my soul hollow,
pains me always. And
you, young ones, must know
that i am damned."

Return to your path / hunched and lank / walk under a tone of misery / and crawl in the dust / when the sun sears / to shadow the face that / bears false pride / that commits to deceit / that will never forgive and forget / the eyes that see naught but filth / cast them downward and / look not on those / that greet the figure shouldered / their hearts can pierce / this sickening rant which dribbles / now from those tight lips / that angry jaw / those clenching teeth / find thanks for what was once near / for what was once / for what? / always quick to miss the point / cast aside those handfuls / of tar and waste / drop them without smear / is it possible to break / from this / broken form yet /though the chains of imagination / are wrapped and locked / five times o'er / sinking all decency / to the bottom of the sea?

afternoon after...

2007-02-27T18:57:00.000-08:00

thought 1

nothing is more unnerving right now than the dull click of a marble being dropped carefully onto an accumulating pile that balances threateningly on a taut wet napkin... though even if that napkin were to break, i'm sure most of them would stand suspended in mid-air, glued to the atmosphere, while others less colorful rolled away - perhaps out of sight, perhaps visible and unreachable, or even just next to my foot easily within my grasp...

thought 2

sometimes the balcony Is the view.

thought 3/poem

sticky sticky skin
thoughts oozing out like
the alcohol from our pores
encouraged by all kinds of
infiltrating warmths
this car is my hammock and,
well, so is this conversation
since there is always danger
of flipping over
good thing we won't be falling
too far to the ground
and nice thing
how we are not worried
at all

what is in eliot's disregard?

2007-02-27T16:26:00.001-08:00

do you regard form?
yes, i think you do but
easily turn a cheek.
omission in the coverage of a shoe.
your reader is a child who
dropped a penny or two,
shiny and desired - expected to
be found.
the search is hungry, impatient,
almost frantic with want!
unadulterated,
pure and simply innocently unheld,
a child's hands.
a crust of bread among mallards, pigeons.

you would smolder form like a butt
perhaps picking it up again for
a single ruinous breath.
do you consider that a blackening
of a literary lung?
i love your purposeful indecision.
the fashion of your ease.
the tra
and the la
omission of the question to please
teasing the poetically formed disease
that flaps around helplessly.

is it arrogant to assume that i possess a hint,
just a hint! of your essence?
a mere hint!
allow that, chickens,
do not peck at me. look to the ground.
this is not base feed and hollow grain.
allow me to sift, or swim
in your cool-headed granary.

sole of alice...

2007-02-23T12:28:00.000-08:00

on the sole of alice
every color mashed grit
streaks
so bright she may have golden toes.

solace found
on that sole of alice
a sojourn soliloquoy
treatment of bizarre truth
or was it a dream?
it is dreamt still.
in the colorgrind
a hare's hair
whiter than any lifelong mayor
whiter than an angel fair
whiter than the beginning of a love affair

in the midst of crayonic carnavale.
afloat on the patent puddle of gasoline.

her shoe
muddied because of poorest grip
and down she slipped...

down
down
down

into the black unwhirlpool
into a world too full
amassed in hugest hues
any clues as to who's hues?

no,
terribly sorry,
not that she knows of.

and the answer laid
in two ears
a-pointing away,
way down the path.

as she goes, a
song is trudged out underfoot
just for her to hear,
hypnotic
a long golden hair stretched
like the truth
on a barken bow
playing a fruit salad ballad.
entrancing
even when time swings
in the pocket of a flash.

awaken
awake

blink

from the dream
clear the senses in
the meadowed steam
she dips her foot in a nearby stream

and everything fantastic
on that sole
is clean.

the minister...

2007-02-22T14:29:00.000-08:00

He lives under a bridge.
He bridges lives to light
He simply gives.
The narrow bridge,
The one less traveled,
Under this he sheds
A light first faint,
Hinting of a saint,
When seen through smoke
Down dusty lanes.
The neighbors know
This glowing grows
Much brighter further
From their beds.
From the sill then
Pairs of children
Whisper true-eyed
Rumors said.
Like how he healed
A toad one day
Whose leg had stuck
The leap!
Or jimmy swore
On the old barn door
That the man once
Showed him how
To swim!
He'd waded out
To tattered waist
And waited hither to.
Jimmy crept with
Cautious eyes
While water wrapped
His legs in blue.
Big hands cradled
Dirt blonde locks
And wet them
Dip by dip.
Minnows swirled
Round ankles thin
And Jimmy's heart
Made a little skip.
He even skipped
Back home that day
Still glossed with
Sheen of the cold
Cold stream.
It stuck like honey
On his skin
For forty days
And nights.
His parents called
The doctor twice
But knew it was
The man's device.
The tonic moon
Spilled generously
Into Jimmy's room
At seven sharp.
The bridge remained
From the window pane
An iridescent sight.
Among the babbles,
Stones that speak,
A second stream
Does flow.
A current carries
Holy words that
Only those like
Him might know.
He kneels upon
An altar, crude,
With pebbles
Jutting firm.
Under the bridge,
Under the quilt,
They both can feel
Their spirits churn.
His light is lit.
He nightly knits
A bridge to it
As seen through smoke
Down dusty lanes.

so i turn to night...

2007-02-17T08:23:00.001-08:00

I've realized you do not love me
over the course of this afternoon.
Tiding light above the wee
garden that draws me to it soon
slowly shadows blushing buds
and gently closes those in bloom.

I hear my name in softest eeps
of breath as petals touch to touch.
The winding ribbons play for keeps
those called and swept to crawling dusk.
Enter I, a benching bride
to mimic stone, ivory as a tusk.

The life ahead turns to one long night
as all is laid to a peaceful rest.
Stillness spreads and hardens right
the pulse of every flowery breast.
Hush now while the moon paints white
these lips with which I ever kissed.

be not envious of the clouds...

2007-01-31T08:42:00.002-08:00

I dangle on the silver edge so light,
in light of circumstances black, to pale
complexions nearly white and strike the tails
of satyrs quite deserving of requite.
A luminescent shade I cast in flight
adorning Mother’s sight with pearly veil
and cooing songs of white upon the gale
while nudging latent gods, yet ever slight.

From bluest heart I course as nature’s vein
renewing life, though under duty borne.
For single-roséd sake I perish not
just once, but sighing o’er I die again.
Oh Lazarus, impart me not such scorn.
One mortal time in selfishness is sought.

the choke of napoleon

2006-12-20T09:26:00.002-08:00

why is it
that,
the mind of a conquerer

must die in an office?

hive

2006-12-18T11:15:00.001-08:00

hive of joy
jive of eye
glow of pore
swell of cheekbone

half crescent crease frames
the sunrise of the
mouth
containing hard, hardly
containing.

this occassional spill
of purity lessens not
the stock yet plants a
trailing grove of radiance
wherever it goes.

cool granary
of sigh-stirred seed may
burst before the day is done.

2006-12-10T16:30:00.000-08:00

i long for a lover
who will gently siphon
poison and soul
detox and infiltrate
by invitation but
really...
necessity. trance.

atlas is atlas,
that is
all.

the weightless sestina...

2006-12-05T18:49:00.002-08:00

Emerging from the depths she did casually stroll by
And upon this second chance did she reflect.
A voice behind beckoned coolly for a pause
Which came in a knowing instant, with creeping smile
And a turn that matched an astronaut on the moon.
This moment, void of gravity and breath, they did note.

Her gait now carried something of a lighter note
Toward a stare that dared not let her pass by
Without paying fare. Fair or no, his call did reflect
The story of a hooded girl and wolf who’s paws
Deviated plans to feed a satiated smile
By stealing goods, playing dress up, and shooting the moon.

He watched her glide forth, skin pale as the moon
And eyes of blue, bluer even than a long jazz note.
His gaze skimmed over the depth of those pools by
Seeing old albums on their surfaces reflected.
Those worn images served him to breathe, and pause,
So hands may outstretch and names would leave their smiles.

New shades of black fell against the white of every smile
And the low jukebox glow squared them onto an electric moon,
An inner space from which they crooned floating notes
Like meteorites, that alien appeared to lonely ears. He did buy
Songs and in doing so, bought time to watch the light reflect
On her expression, which placed all time (even paid) to a pause.

They stared steadfast while his finger on the button paused
For a selection, revealing a flicker of a smile
Upon each suggestion. Would Dark Side of the Moon
Be too dated - even suspect? Or timeless in its tripping note?
Would every choice between this man and his passer-by
Expose new skin that only a song’s mirror may reflect?

This newborn Song of Now they hoped onto one day reflect
As they shot each gaze forth, no surface pause
But a beating plunge to know the depth beyond that smile.
The thought of faulting fate or aligning of some moons
For placement of their forms before a sturdy shrine of notes
Is vaguer known than what better thing this may be measured by.

They wondered if again this saunter-by and possessive smile
Would pursue reflection of these minutes past. “Oh yes” the last note
Rang fading moon electric and her feet carrying time out of pause.

time/snap sonnet...

2006-12-05T18:48:00.001-08:00

Her feet did stir still time from deepest sleep.
It trailed behind like waking children do
when fresh from bed they roll with instinct through
and stumble blindly; blurried barefoot creep.
Half clad in dreamer’s web long drawn from deep
imagination’s catacombs that stew
heart soup with longing we must bid adieu
when starving present eats and inward seeps.
Her floating body grounded yet, in trance,
still saw the swinging tick-tock, hanging clock
that held itself within his hands. She knew
his eyes bore in her back that once did glance
yet stayed her head not turning round to lock
their gazes twice – else time be frozen too.

she knows the slipper isn't there, but she went back anyway..

2006-12-04T15:45:00.001-08:00

Old arms unfold on a night so fair.
Spirits restless, lone in drizzle teeming
three times as gray than she was last aware.

Her ghost was waiting at that familiar stair
his beckon soft, gentle and leaning.
Old arms unfold on a night so fair.

A season changed since she grasped his hair
and laid in his lap. The low light seeming
three times as gray than she was last aware.

Expectant that embered wounds would flare
she strolled through their fire as if easily dreaming.
Old charms unfold on a night so fair

and this late hour did she her shoulders bare,
eyes filtering moon on his body gleaming
three times as silver than she was last aware.

When there was nothing more to share
they laid biting breath and bitter beaming.
Old arms may unfold on a night so fair
yet three times as gray than she was last aware.

kiss it to the surface...

2006-12-04T15:40:00.000-08:00

deeeeeeeep in the earth
my embrace is my shovel
a come hither, my lunge
lips are hands (firm and elegant)
my tongue, the backbone held in place
pain wells up from the ground bubbling
fresh
i am rich with emotion
a tycoon of subconscious wealth
and a ten gallon hat full of
tears

false verse...

2006-12-04T15:36:00.000-08:00

the hand extends to invite
yet also wishes to brand
(expectation disguised as delight)
remind yourself and reprimand

remind yourself and reprimand
for this trick has been played once or twice
your favor appears in high demand
don't become locked in a vicious vice

don't become locked in a vicious vice
marked in debt for all eterne
the hand that offers itself in advice
will want for payment in return

will want for payment in return?
this is far from beginning intent!
when trust between is hard to earn
this bond may we lament

this bond may we lament now
it is rotted beneat what 'pears new
this thought remains and takes its bow
that a heart may know itself untrue

her name...

2006-12-04T15:21:00.000-08:00

Her name was Trouble
and She sat smugly
smirking with magnetic pull
short-skirted with power
eyes drinking you in as
easily as that gulp of whiskey
and twice as warming when
you slide down Her throat
it's not your decision
this slope it's automatic
once you see Her
once you feel Her
you are gone gone gone
down and out and in deep, Baby
and you will be dizzy
but you won't give a fuck
because She's better to
smell one time
than a lottery of hothouses
one moment with Her
surpasses the space-time continuum
and Her breath will stick
to your neck like a heroin fog
you will wear it in your skin

She sits and waits for you
but read the branch-laden sign:

She can sloth the hummingbird
She can stone the bullet
She can ice the volcano
that will be your heart
when it erupts.

you don't know what you're getting into.

this isn't warm bathwater
or a playground with plastic swings.

this. is. It.

erleichda...

2006-12-04T15:12:00.000-08:00

i read the book of life
by the lamplight of my face,
sweatered with my own warm glow
and sipping hot thought.

i call on the sirs of Wisdom and Pleasure
to pair single grain with vast universe
like my father held me in that photo;
clear and complete in one shot,
one scope.

i only dream of immortality
when i stand before a library wall
or in the middle of a hard laugh.

some hesitate at this masquerade
but i am comfortable in masks
(and their tendencies to slip).

may i have this dance?
i once did so on top of your feet
and will again on top of my deathbed.

First, though, may i sit boldly
on the lap of Silence
wildly contented
by a blazing fire of synapses.

born into ash...

2006-12-04T14:58:00.000-08:00

tightly wound bud
firming in the sunlight
clenching under the peering eye
choking on the forming dew
spitting at the floating bee

unlikely flower
browning at the mere
thought
of fresh air
aaaaaaaah content
with continuous dusk
and droning
cricket-conscience

bending toward winter days
gray goodness
shadows that lengthen
and sharp-toothed winds
all the more reason to
clampwrapenvelope
into musty enclosure and
self assured warmth

peculiar thing
allowing the death of brilliance
if a shimmer can be called
a stroke of genius

let it dull
let youth fade like your interest
in one full bloom

crumpled pollen soul
sewn over with memory
blind at every dawn
numb to the cold wind

elementa...

2006-12-04T13:36:00.000-08:00

waterbody
firemind
raw remembrance
left behind

silken turn
dagger glance
too intent
for happenstance

fluid tongue
searing word
sharp prods clear
a vision blurred

kettle sweat
boiling tear
thinning blood/
thick'ning fear

peeling thought
shifting eye
drop the world
in one full sigh

panting beats
pulses stall
heart bleeds down
in a waterfall

foaming lips
grinding jaw
spewing minds
leave us in awe

counted crows
are left to caw.

wooden dreams
remain to saw.