Thursday, January 27, 2011


a choreography
of ghosts whirling
on the stage of
my morning tea

the acrobatic clouds
that tumble from
snow-lined branches
grazed by dry wind

how the silent music
surrounds us how
the dance appears
to just happen

the way that memory
constellates us
with it’s tides with
it’s residue.

as simple as

                        as simple as


animal sense

rolling field in
            tall tanned grass

hidden child
still hidden

wait for light                wait
for sleep

            enough nights.

Instruction Manual

circle yourself

            your perception

compress yourself within arm’s length

sift what you remember

                        out of what you know

                                    then sift your known self

through the hoops of your being

            through skull
                        and skeleton                organs
                        fluids and tissues
            through synapses and sphincters
                        vessels pores follicles
            through your last orgasm
                        your last dream
            through your current breath and
                        the salt in your mouth
            through the fatigue and the aches
                        that affect you

            through what exhilarates        humiliates
what annihilates you
                                                and what remains.

Friday, January 21, 2011

I am in

I am in
the open
field again
waiting for
the answer
I was told
to find to
find my way

and so I
find myself
lost looking
for who I
was before
I began
to become
who I am

I try to
try to find
the soft hands
that held my
at the breast

the gentle
song of round

a song of
to be here

but instead

why are you
crying what’s
wrong with you

all you think
about is
yourself you
never think
about any-
one else you

you little
bastard all
you ever
think about
is you how
do you think
I feel on
my feet day
after day
to support
this house you
selfish brat
how do you
think I feel
for a change

I brought you
into this
world and I’ll
take you out

is what I
heard as far
back as I
can forget

up until
I cut the
cord with her

her response
ended with
“you stupid
bastard” and
I ended
the phone call

“and that’s why
I . . . goodbye.”

if the waves

if the waves
in the river
are blue
it is
a shade of blue
I want
to be

            and if
            is true
I want to become
the wind that peels
off the hurricane
to sail over
the mountains
            to be here
to be
the hand
drawing blue waves
out of
this ticklish
muddy river.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

to weld

to weld

                        to stillness

to dig
            with miniature lightning
furrowed congealing edges

to stitch small gaps with immense resource
volcanic shorthand
of elemental dynamics

attention is critical as the ancients atomize
as electricity becomes ore becomes molecular

                                    stride in

                                    as if
concentration can stop time
                                                yet not
                                    without gravity.



your soft footsteps crossed the thin
threshold of my sleep and we danced
like old lovers  celebrating
the wreckage of our bond
                        two gray creatures
your filigree of movement stippling
my rounded stone
and we danced
featherless in the hovering sunless air
covered in your cold canorous tears
your song that flows over
                        and into all bodies
that stirs the silt of dreams.

the fox nipped at my back

the fox nipped at my back
seated as I was

she danced behind me
cantering sideways from
my left to my right
            back and forth
grabbing at my shirt in
the passing                  once
catching my collar
and I could feel the small
determined teeth on the knot
of bone jutting from my neck

I waited as the dance turned
from nervous to playful
                        still cautious
and spiked with warning

I continue to wait to face
and nuzzle this fitful
            magnificent being.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

as though it comes

as though it comes
from a remote mountaintop
few have ever been to
this slight afternoon
breeze moves me as it moves
the maple leaves         lifts them
up to show the red stems
                        the eyelashes
of a red-headed warrior          drifting
from the ripe edge of the viking stride
eleven-hundred years after his fall
here on the ancient exhale
                                    the eyelashes
translated between leaf and limber
arrow-like branches.

give me a crow for gawd

give me a crow for gawd’sakes
like the one I saw with a white
patch under the wing
                                    one like that
don’t need to be perfect
                        rather that a crow
could ever be perfect
or anything else but right there
when trouble comes swinging
her greasy bag a lollipops
just the most sensational tongue-
tied way to live for gawd’sakes
                        I ain’t kiddin’ dammit
give me a damn crow like I asked
one to drink out of or else.

where a seed once fell

where a seed once fell a determined oak
took ground and forgave silence like the sleep
of birds           
and through
the oak signature it grew into a tower with the same
slow accumulation of stillness or indifference
that intervenes over time between lovers.