night fills up like
a rusted tub to brim
with sleeping shadows,
drowning an eggshell moon
that lays flat as a
porcelain drain stopper
morning blooms a ginger
star of love burnt fire
and upon the etherized
dawn I feel morning birthed
beneath my feet
my soul stethescopes the
whispering splendor of falling leaves,
chestnut and hazel,
filling my new born eyes
with autumn aurora
Monday, November 3, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
It Was Said
In the last days, the men lost
their dignity, minds, and
means of seeing color
Absurd and naked the charred survivors
curled fetal and flaking in the trenches,
live grenades swaddled in
dead childrens blankets,
With cracking voices they sang and lulled,
melodies of respite, hoping
the bombs would sleep.
their dignity, minds, and
means of seeing color
Absurd and naked the charred survivors
curled fetal and flaking in the trenches,
live grenades swaddled in
dead childrens blankets,
With cracking voices they sang and lulled,
melodies of respite, hoping
the bombs would sleep.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Red
she talked in differnt voices about the
one good suicide in her--
and how,
to a razor blade everything looks red.
one good suicide in her--
and how,
to a razor blade everything looks red.
That
there still is that
that runs to the edges
of your body. happy
to fall, with jumping
in the bones.
that runs to the edges
of your body. happy
to fall, with jumping
in the bones.
The Composer Cracked Up Long Ago
in the city streets I feel underwater, sounds swell in
magnified metallic to a furious fugue of final days
notes blossom atonal in addict alleys and avenues as jaundiced junkies
pant pleasure as needles hole into hungry violet veins,
car doors and canines crunch while bus brakes bellow (marooned mammal in low tide)
as shoes shuffle towards sin, soon sirens scream in fiendish falsetto
eight off-key Octopus octaves pound and pop the wave widened sea as notes spark a serenade that swallows itself before cacophonous crescendo,
sea weed wet in my shoes and my mind heaves heavy, languid water logged as no one directs this dimming disaster, the composer cracked up long ago.
magnified metallic to a furious fugue of final days
notes blossom atonal in addict alleys and avenues as jaundiced junkies
pant pleasure as needles hole into hungry violet veins,
car doors and canines crunch while bus brakes bellow (marooned mammal in low tide)
as shoes shuffle towards sin, soon sirens scream in fiendish falsetto
eight off-key Octopus octaves pound and pop the wave widened sea as notes spark a serenade that swallows itself before cacophonous crescendo,
sea weed wet in my shoes and my mind heaves heavy, languid water logged as no one directs this dimming disaster, the composer cracked up long ago.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Her Time Has Not Yet Come
her time has not yet come, for the sunflowers head
is bowed in reverence to this season of snow angels in the
ashes of cigarettes that went long ago
she saves her good wine for nights like these and
many say its too late in the season, but she learned how to
ration hope, when the bread lines went long ago
on this night, she sees the world as a gypsy
camp that god fled ten thousand seasons back, uncorseted, his
shopping cart missing a wheel, the haste--
he left behind so many things that she can never love.
still, he left behind some miracles.
is bowed in reverence to this season of snow angels in the
ashes of cigarettes that went long ago
she saves her good wine for nights like these and
many say its too late in the season, but she learned how to
ration hope, when the bread lines went long ago
on this night, she sees the world as a gypsy
camp that god fled ten thousand seasons back, uncorseted, his
shopping cart missing a wheel, the haste--
he left behind so many things that she can never love.
still, he left behind some miracles.
No Theatrics Please, Munch
Why the sloping scream,
under the bruised and bloodied sky,
When in the autumn poppy fields,
more desperation settles upon her sigh?
under the bruised and bloodied sky,
When in the autumn poppy fields,
more desperation settles upon her sigh?
October
October
with her I once saw a place
god left undecided
me -- slack jawed and far from
familiar shores, where water laps
with terrifying patience and
reverent stones bow
their bathing heads
her – speaking to me in
Octobers tone, saying this world is good
and to live is the better
choice, but there were other words
from other voices
the canyon yawned went slack and
slumbered below, incurious to the
ghost choices I had to make, and
drifted dumbly until
it broke upon the bend, aghast awake
awoken like an angry child, its chasm caterwaul
piercing with beauty
born anew.
(the commotion was yet another voice)
with her I could not chose, and left
it undecided.
with her I once saw a place
god left undecided
me -- slack jawed and far from
familiar shores, where water laps
with terrifying patience and
reverent stones bow
their bathing heads
her – speaking to me in
Octobers tone, saying this world is good
and to live is the better
choice, but there were other words
from other voices
the canyon yawned went slack and
slumbered below, incurious to the
ghost choices I had to make, and
drifted dumbly until
it broke upon the bend, aghast awake
awoken like an angry child, its chasm caterwaul
piercing with beauty
born anew.
(the commotion was yet another voice)
with her I could not chose, and left
it undecided.
First Days
In the first days, loving her was to burrow
In the ocean without wearing your skin
The animal self dissolved into sea
And my bones took themselves apart
Me unmade, my floating ears could
Hear only her siren voice,
Full of salt and sublime.
In the ocean without wearing your skin
The animal self dissolved into sea
And my bones took themselves apart
Me unmade, my floating ears could
Hear only her siren voice,
Full of salt and sublime.
Olvidar
Olvidar
Remind me, remind me to forget...
(so many things)
...and not only who
I am, but what I
Was to be.
Remind me, remind me to forget...
(so many things)
...and not only who
I am, but what I
Was to be.
Angels Were at Work
she birthed from the waters dripping
eternal and unbound, black hair
doused to pitch with salt on her
eyelashes
she put herself on the stones of
summers shore, let warmth marble into her
bones, until the white sun sparked a
brushfire
that bloomed a golden red mane
with halo, for in that moment the
angels were at work
eternal and unbound, black hair
doused to pitch with salt on her
eyelashes
she put herself on the stones of
summers shore, let warmth marble into her
bones, until the white sun sparked a
brushfire
that bloomed a golden red mane
with halo, for in that moment the
angels were at work
Tin-Can
My hope for this world dangles like a button
Precarious and absurd,
Lolling from the aged spider thread off
The cuff of my grandfather’s work-shirt,
In which he shook a cobbled hand and
With tin-can voice said,
There is hope, for this world.
Precarious and absurd,
Lolling from the aged spider thread off
The cuff of my grandfather’s work-shirt,
In which he shook a cobbled hand and
With tin-can voice said,
There is hope, for this world.
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