Your tiny mother and tall
dark eyed aunt with laughter
long as her hair read the note
you left at the doctor’s office
the funny picture
you
drew with your wet dance
and pokey limbs
sans penis. You are unchanged
a girl from orgasmic start
to this long-distance calling day
funny zygote demanding
naps already in
the ocean of the woman who
grows you giving
dreams to small crowded rooms
where time passes with each
thump of your shared blood rivers
demanding every morsel of food
to turn into yourself
pushing against the confines of the
warm
pool swishing
while you dog-paddle your way
into being here.
5-20-05
Friday, May 20, 2005
Circuit
When I was called
come speak
to women far away as the buffalo
on hip broad plains beyond my
squint-eyed comprehension even
with a well mapped plan
I went and spoke and saw
that I carried the plan
for their passion, the small
seeds I carried so
lightly between my full moon breasts
were just
the nourishment they would
need in the coming blizzard
of invasive control howling winds
blowing through their rust complexions
peach soft bodies piercing their very
seed dormant wombs
with false orders –
reproduce
beyond the needs of the planet
or the race, multiply in their
shades of pale resignation
supply workers consumers soldiers gravediggers.
Speaking only made my voice
carry old truths
back to the women who had
always known them
guarded them
and merely needed to be
reminded of their own gardens.
5-19-05
come speak
to women far away as the buffalo
on hip broad plains beyond my
squint-eyed comprehension even
with a well mapped plan
I went and spoke and saw
that I carried the plan
for their passion, the small
seeds I carried so
lightly between my full moon breasts
were just
the nourishment they would
need in the coming blizzard
of invasive control howling winds
blowing through their rust complexions
peach soft bodies piercing their very
seed dormant wombs
with false orders –
reproduce
beyond the needs of the planet
or the race, multiply in their
shades of pale resignation
supply workers consumers soldiers gravediggers.
Speaking only made my voice
carry old truths
back to the women who had
always known them
guarded them
and merely needed to be
reminded of their own gardens.
5-19-05
Notice
I will be away from computers until late Tuesday and will post the weekend's poems at that time.
In the Wake of the Locusts
it is as if
God Himself
took His hand
held it flat
passed it over
the land
& breathed
in
God Himself
took His hand
held it flat
passed it over
the land
& breathed
in
<{[(:+:)]}>
inside the pain he thinks
maybe wants
to believe there
may be a spark dying somewhere
to live in that
positively absolute
lonely dark
but his eyes starving
are just metaphors
amputating his body
from both hands
(those brutal mirrors of
empty gestures like
"each other"
cupping a two-faced kiss)...
...then he remembers when his mind
used to bleed smiles from wounds as wide
as the very thought of a brain
humorrhaging
maybe wants
to believe there
may be a spark dying somewhere
to live in that
positively absolute
lonely dark
but his eyes starving
are just metaphors
amputating his body
from both hands
(those brutal mirrors of
empty gestures like
"each other"
cupping a two-faced kiss)...
...then he remembers when his mind
used to bleed smiles from wounds as wide
as the very thought of a brain
humorrhaging
Thursday, May 19, 2005
The nineteenth day of May
The old men
one in each of the first two rows
finger full sets of keys
during the lecture
on the grand hotel
they worked on as young men
that was torn down
during their middle age
finger full sets of keys
as if they were harp strings
their metal song
reminding them
of all the things they own
one in each of the first two rows
finger full sets of keys
during the lecture
on the grand hotel
they worked on as young men
that was torn down
during their middle age
finger full sets of keys
as if they were harp strings
their metal song
reminding them
of all the things they own
Damp Sestina
Through the door frame comes the rain
Bounces in small pebbles on the grass
Which tries to remember how to grow
after the long winter where nothing flowed
except the ever-loving ever-moving sky
where clouds turn this way that way, fly
If only I could do that, fly
Run away from this brain rain
Soar up into the grey-white sky
Look down at the trees and the grass
Note how the ice pushes off, flows
How the river pushes and grows
Fear over my inner riverbank grows
As I cant seem to stop the way time flies
The way it darts and flees and flows
Instead of gathering in puddles like rain
Instead of rising up like verdant grass
Instead of stretching out like endless sky
Time shrinks instead of grows
Evades escapes finds a way to fly
While God from who all blessings flow
Sends us the pain the gain the rain
Sends us the beetles in the grass
Sends us secret messages in the sky
And through it all the spirit flows
Spirit of wonder of joy of sky
Through it all falls eternal rain
So the weeds and flowers grow
And soon come bees and baby flies
Soon come worms writhing in the grass
And when theres no room in the grass
To the river the worms will flow
And when theres no more room for flies
They will escape up to the sky
And when the clouds can no longer grow
Down they fall in endless rain
Now the flies gather on the grass
Now the rain in the river flows
Now the sky shows us how to grow
Bounces in small pebbles on the grass
Which tries to remember how to grow
after the long winter where nothing flowed
except the ever-loving ever-moving sky
where clouds turn this way that way, fly
If only I could do that, fly
Run away from this brain rain
Soar up into the grey-white sky
Look down at the trees and the grass
Note how the ice pushes off, flows
How the river pushes and grows
Fear over my inner riverbank grows
As I cant seem to stop the way time flies
The way it darts and flees and flows
Instead of gathering in puddles like rain
Instead of rising up like verdant grass
Instead of stretching out like endless sky
Time shrinks instead of grows
Evades escapes finds a way to fly
While God from who all blessings flow
Sends us the pain the gain the rain
Sends us the beetles in the grass
Sends us secret messages in the sky
And through it all the spirit flows
Spirit of wonder of joy of sky
Through it all falls eternal rain
So the weeds and flowers grow
And soon come bees and baby flies
Soon come worms writhing in the grass
And when theres no room in the grass
To the river the worms will flow
And when theres no more room for flies
They will escape up to the sky
And when the clouds can no longer grow
Down they fall in endless rain
Now the flies gather on the grass
Now the rain in the river flows
Now the sky shows us how to grow
just lying, there
life is a tupperware casket of donuts
looks like truth
tastes like chickenshit
you've urned your bed
now lie in your ashes
kill anything resembling
birds
or rising
bridges were made
so suicides could
reconsiderately
enjoy a productive life in arson
if it isn't dead
where is its ghost of a chance
crossing over
to end that perpetual
why did the poultrygeist
(do what it did to)
the road
because it could never remember
the side it just came from
& its brain,
only big enough to believe in
two-sided theories
massacred all the others
lest it lose its deathgrip
to something more
personal
like love,
or lovelike
looks like truth
tastes like chickenshit
you've urned your bed
now lie in your ashes
kill anything resembling
birds
or rising
bridges were made
so suicides could
reconsiderately
enjoy a productive life in arson
if it isn't dead
where is its ghost of a chance
crossing over
to end that perpetual
why did the poultrygeist
(do what it did to)
the road
because it could never remember
the side it just came from
& its brain,
only big enough to believe in
two-sided theories
massacred all the others
lest it lose its deathgrip
to something more
personal
like love,
or lovelike
Drops of Day
Awaiting midnight on
the cusp of Thursday
I hear the flow of water
rippled like a soft gargle
clearing it’s throat of faded crumpled
lists caught in the day’s
passing. I can’t imagine
how the flow goes on
in such dry air, where do
the heavy drops fall from—
where do they land? What time
will they wash over
the edge of twelve strikes
and produce a clean
new day with it’s own
throat song full of fresh lists
waiting to bring liquid melody to
another turning?
the cusp of Thursday
I hear the flow of water
rippled like a soft gargle
clearing it’s throat of faded crumpled
lists caught in the day’s
passing. I can’t imagine
how the flow goes on
in such dry air, where do
the heavy drops fall from—
where do they land? What time
will they wash over
the edge of twelve strikes
and produce a clean
new day with it’s own
throat song full of fresh lists
waiting to bring liquid melody to
another turning?
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
The eighteenth day of May
For G...
She made my mother
write handle with care
across her breast
with the thick black
tongue
of a permanent marker
when she came to drive her
to the operation
that morning
She told the doctor
staring at the exclamation
marks that spread down
between her breasts
one healthy
one suspect
that she was single again
that she needed her tits
just right
now
The doctor nodded
and sent the nurses to tell her
to take all her
clothes off
as if she was on
a suspect First Date
where the man you thought
was healthy
tells you what he wants
and assumes
that you
can
give it
to him
She’d stowed her clothes
her two intact breasts
still in the cups
of her bra
in a locker on the ward
but when she woke up
on a different stretcher
in a different room
they’d escaped
their bonds
and were heaped
next to her
as they would have been
on her bedroom
floor
if she’d been alone
It took her a long time
to paw through her clothes
her bandaged breast
beating
but her underwear
didn’t shake out
of the long creased legs
of her pants
and when she told them
all the legs in the hall
all the charts and chimes
and calls from different rooms
different stretchers
a nurse slowed down
long enough
to say
maybe you didn’t wear
underwear
today
as if a woman
facing
and a suspect
tit
might
go without
She stared the woman
down
it was brand new
hot pink underwear
she said
and sat back
as people scurried around the ward
saying
have you seen her
underwear
her underwear is missing
until an intern found them
puddled
on the bland floor
Later she says wanna
see my tit
and whips up her shirt
before I can say no
to show me a bandage
as big as a handkerchief loaned
out by a black and white man
to a crying woman
not knowing herself
how and where they cut
or if the doctor
took the time
to wash away
handle with care
before he set
the knife
to her
Planning the Shot
The light will be coming down here
It will fill the room bleed through the walls
Everything will be light a shroud will be over the camera
A white shroud and through it we will see only light
When the cloth lifts there will be a small child pale almost
a ghost
He will run from the camera
Run hiding behind others from figure to figure down the tunnel toward
the altar
The camera will come after him slow but sure of itself sure of
his eventual capture
And then when it reaches the boy
There will be light
Everything will be light again
It will fill the room bleed through the walls
Everything will be light a shroud will be over the camera
A white shroud and through it we will see only light
When the cloth lifts there will be a small child pale almost
a ghost
He will run from the camera
Run hiding behind others from figure to figure down the tunnel toward
the altar
The camera will come after him slow but sure of itself sure of
his eventual capture
And then when it reaches the boy
There will be light
Everything will be light again
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
The seventeenth day of May
tuck their tails under the long lines
of haunch and hip of shadow
and roadside sound
and settle out in the open
while the American bison as boxy as bales
of straw intact bales of hay broken
sleep at the edge of the chain-link
barbed-wire enclosure
but it is the charge
of the camera on the far post
and the headlights of a car coasting up
the service road that hurries us
to the other side
where wild white-tails kneel in grassy beds
between birch bur oak
and the bedside posts
hung with emblems
of leaping
deer
and cracks are filled in with tar
and the treads of suburban cars
where there is the passing thump
of stereos
and the whites of eyes
scanning the far distance
the curving line
of road
between the tilled land of the Tuxedo golf course
and the thin-trunked trees
of the forest
we are susceptible to the long thrill
of frog-song and star-light the sky
intact the sky broken open
but it is the sudden thrash
of limbs
in the dark
and the stuttering clutch of our throats
as a flock of roosting birds
startle out of sleep
into the wet ditch
and away
that makes us trade the return trip through the trees
for the lit edge of the forest
where the pulled curls
of nightcrawlers
on the smooth sidewalk
only
mimic
the curving line of dark
Never tried a Limberick before...
There once was a girl from Winnipegosis
Every where she ran people yelled "Whoa sis!"
She found they yelled lower
When she became a slow boat rower
That strange sweet girl from Winnipegosis.
---
Here lies a boy who loved Star Wars
He thought he could walk straight through bar doors
They took one look at his shirt
Man that pummeling musta hurt
For that poor poor boy who loved Star Wars
Every where she ran people yelled "Whoa sis!"
She found they yelled lower
When she became a slow boat rower
That strange sweet girl from Winnipegosis.
---
Here lies a boy who loved Star Wars
He thought he could walk straight through bar doors
They took one look at his shirt
Man that pummeling musta hurt
For that poor poor boy who loved Star Wars
Enough For Me
The simple soup warm glow—
belly not empty—
comes every time
I get to pay the house note
or the water bill,
Other utilities keep
continuing
sure as sunshine,
small bits of jewelry
for my peace of mind,
so lately well adorned.
Water like liquid diamonds
falls from so many taps—
gratitude and astonishment
continuing.
I know I have the only
Blessings I need.
5-12-05
-found unposted in Word-
belly not empty—
comes every time
I get to pay the house note
or the water bill,
Other utilities keep
continuing
sure as sunshine,
small bits of jewelry
for my peace of mind,
so lately well adorned.
Water like liquid diamonds
falls from so many taps—
gratitude and astonishment
continuing.
I know I have the only
Blessings I need.
5-12-05
-found unposted in Word-
Dusk Ablaze
When day has slipped its foot
into the bath of night
and stars call down
to whatever bits of light are left
pooling at the edge,
then the ground shimmers
and yellow rises flashing
as if each
petal of the dandelions
has taken wing,
the blinking
lights rise bright
against the darkness
dancing a quest for life.
Some stay moored to the earth,
blinking back, twinkling
like tiny candles
showing the direction home.
into the bath of night
and stars call down
to whatever bits of light are left
pooling at the edge,
then the ground shimmers
and yellow rises flashing
as if each
petal of the dandelions
has taken wing,
the blinking
lights rise bright
against the darkness
dancing a quest for life.
Some stay moored to the earth,
blinking back, twinkling
like tiny candles
showing the direction home.
The sixteenth day of May (a day late)
Assiniboine Forest, May 16, 2005.
Spring in
this year
means everything green below
mossy urns teetering on bright stalks
no thicker than the orange stubble
that picks
its way across your chin
and green above
deer-lipped shoots swaying on black branches
still brittle from the bud-freeze-thaw
and the drowned
roots the rot below
means both of us tying woolens
around our waists kicking up enough
mud to weigh down our cuffs
and colour
the days
to clutching your long cool fingers
as we walked through the balloon-rub chorus
of bull frogs from puddles and ditches
the heady amphibian lust
of last year
to crouching among the millions of mushrooms
both of us enveloped by the swell
of spores
on the fallen-log-sodden-mulch spawn
of the year before
but it seems
I must satisfy myself
with what there is
the glitter of everywhere wet
the pinpricks
of newly-hatched predators
humming the tune
of this year
Monday, May 16, 2005
Action Movie
there is a bomb
under your seat
a bomb
in your car
a bomb
in your bedroom
bombs
everywhere
dont move if you move
they will explode dont move
dont change nothing
can change dont change
you will be sorry will be sorry
that you crossed us will be sorry
you crossed us hung from a tree
crossed up on the cross hanging
not moving if you move
we will kill your wife kill
your children kill you
salvation is coming
one way or another
bombs everywhere
Back again
Back from working the National Confernce for Media Reform. Posting four poems handwritten during my absence. I'l be back with another later. Peace.
Picnic Effervescence
Between the tie-dyed garments
of dancing adults, I spy
the children
dipping their oversized bubble wands
into pans of liquid soap and glycerin,
trusting in the simple wind
to help pull luminous colors
from the wet membrane
trembling in their hands,
the bubble promise dance twirls
small feet and hands—
bubbles bigger than their heads
are pulled into the afternoon
sunlight and drift above
music, smoke trails,
sleeping babies and good dogs
tormented by the smell
of grilled brats and veggie burgers.
The band in it’s stone shelter
supplies an instrumental
jam of bubble-making music
for the children—
peace full and sending
their fragile wishes
out into the fully leafed treetops
delicate and sharp edged
trusting the grown-ups
to make bubbles possible
for awhile longer.
5-15-05
of dancing adults, I spy
the children
dipping their oversized bubble wands
into pans of liquid soap and glycerin,
trusting in the simple wind
to help pull luminous colors
from the wet membrane
trembling in their hands,
the bubble promise dance twirls
small feet and hands—
bubbles bigger than their heads
are pulled into the afternoon
sunlight and drift above
music, smoke trails,
sleeping babies and good dogs
tormented by the smell
of grilled brats and veggie burgers.
The band in it’s stone shelter
supplies an instrumental
jam of bubble-making music
for the children—
peace full and sending
their fragile wishes
out into the fully leafed treetops
delicate and sharp edged
trusting the grown-ups
to make bubbles possible
for awhile longer.
5-15-05
What We Eat
Even as technology spins
higher into possibility
I am ever more amazed at
how some lies are
spread in such old-fashioned ways,
manure spreaders of power
using whatever by-line
or rapid graphics the eye can catch
and believe
under the overextended
bass tones of a cereal
commercial voice talent.
Buy this line, it’s sweeter than the truth.
The voices roll over
the waves and it’s not even
a commercial break.
How can the message be sifted
from the news and placed
in that fourth stomach we have
for digesting news,
the place where our cud is kept ‘til
chewed to fully get it?
or have we turned more meekly
into the flock of mindless sheep
I once recalled,
all lining up for the
humming of the shears?
5-13-05
higher into possibility
I am ever more amazed at
how some lies are
spread in such old-fashioned ways,
manure spreaders of power
using whatever by-line
or rapid graphics the eye can catch
and believe
under the overextended
bass tones of a cereal
commercial voice talent.
Buy this line, it’s sweeter than the truth.
The voices roll over
the waves and it’s not even
a commercial break.
How can the message be sifted
from the news and placed
in that fourth stomach we have
for digesting news,
the place where our cud is kept ‘til
chewed to fully get it?
or have we turned more meekly
into the flock of mindless sheep
I once recalled,
all lining up for the
humming of the shears?
5-13-05
Current Momentum
The white water of humanity
tumbling past my post
excites me
even on the
bank of the flow
bouncing over one another
splashing—
every shade and shape
goes past, swift as
fallen aspen leaves,
voices moving in a foaming roar
all on the way
to some cascading caucus
or some stillwater ballroom
filling a pool of people
awaiting the canyon crowd
of closing plenary—
the rising roar of consensus.
5-14-05
tumbling past my post
excites me
even on the
bank of the flow
bouncing over one another
splashing—
every shade and shape
goes past, swift as
fallen aspen leaves,
voices moving in a foaming roar
all on the way
to some cascading caucus
or some stillwater ballroom
filling a pool of people
awaiting the canyon crowd
of closing plenary—
the rising roar of consensus.
5-14-05
Parking Bandit
Why do I believe every fool
who in his custard smooth voice
tells me he’s about to
do me a favor
grant some royal request
help me in a beehive frantic moment
find my way home
or park my car
in the lemon light of safety
on a scary street
just because he has some
phony reflective vest
and a walkie-talkie—
Or was that just an old cell phone?
and when I give up all I have
the precious currency taped
up under the dashboard
waiting for an unplanned
emergency
I create the very violation
I avoided,
my rapid trust
betrayed as I wait for my change.
The lot was free.
5-12-05
who in his custard smooth voice
tells me he’s about to
do me a favor
grant some royal request
help me in a beehive frantic moment
find my way home
or park my car
in the lemon light of safety
on a scary street
just because he has some
phony reflective vest
and a walkie-talkie—
Or was that just an old cell phone?
and when I give up all I have
the precious currency taped
up under the dashboard
waiting for an unplanned
emergency
I create the very violation
I avoided,
my rapid trust
betrayed as I wait for my change.
The lot was free.
5-12-05
A couple of attempts at cinquaining it up
Rock
hard rough
falling flying hitting
not far from the mark, from the right
Place
----
Daily News
black white
brief collection
of who killed who today
primes us to go out to defend
scared self
hard rough
falling flying hitting
not far from the mark, from the right
Place
----
Daily News
black white
brief collection
of who killed who today
primes us to go out to defend
scared self
In-Cinqu(ain)
Yay Forms!
Thanks Ariel for the inspiration. There are actually lots of variations on Cinquains - here's another take on the form.
The first line has two syllables, the second line has four syllables, the third line has six syllables and the fourth line has eight syllables, the final line has two syllables:
2
4
6
8
2
The line length is the only firm rule, but there are other guidelines that people have tried to impose from time to time.
Cinquain Guidelines
* Write in iambs (Two syllable groupings in which the first syllable is unstressed and the second syllable stressed. For Example: i DRANK she SMILED we TALKED i THOUGHT) For the last line of the cinquain, however, both syllables should be stressed, NICE BAR.
* Write about a noun. Cinquains generally fail if you try to make them about emotions, philosophies or other complex subjects. They should be about something concrete.
* Don’t try to make each line complete or express a single thought. Each line should flow into the next or the poem will sound static.
* Cinquains work best if you avoid adjectives and adverbs. This doesn’t mean you can’t have any, but focus on the nouns and the verbs. This almost always works best in a cinquain.
* The poem should build toward a climax. The last line should serve as some sort of conclusion to the earlier thoughts. Often, the conclusion has some sort of surprise built into it.
One possible, but not required, format is as follows:
Line 1: Title Noun
Line 2: Description
Line 3: Action
Line 4: Feeling or Effect
Line 5: Synonym of the initial noun.
Thanks Ariel for the inspiration. There are actually lots of variations on Cinquains - here's another take on the form.
The first line has two syllables, the second line has four syllables, the third line has six syllables and the fourth line has eight syllables, the final line has two syllables:
2
4
6
8
2
The line length is the only firm rule, but there are other guidelines that people have tried to impose from time to time.
Cinquain Guidelines
* Write in iambs (Two syllable groupings in which the first syllable is unstressed and the second syllable stressed. For Example: i DRANK she SMILED we TALKED i THOUGHT) For the last line of the cinquain, however, both syllables should be stressed, NICE BAR.
* Write about a noun. Cinquains generally fail if you try to make them about emotions, philosophies or other complex subjects. They should be about something concrete.
* Don’t try to make each line complete or express a single thought. Each line should flow into the next or the poem will sound static.
* Cinquains work best if you avoid adjectives and adverbs. This doesn’t mean you can’t have any, but focus on the nouns and the verbs. This almost always works best in a cinquain.
* The poem should build toward a climax. The last line should serve as some sort of conclusion to the earlier thoughts. Often, the conclusion has some sort of surprise built into it.
One possible, but not required, format is as follows:
Line 1: Title Noun
Line 2: Description
Line 3: Action
Line 4: Feeling or Effect
Line 5: Synonym of the initial noun.
abuttoire untitled.......... as in bout
we all have our tiny torments
from familacerta
tearing apart our little
heavenly holding
moments of promise
no, mine
much worse than yours
according to the shadows i no longer stole
from your growing jack-o lantern
there! a winner!
free inside
every speciously marked box
see details
when you get to the other side
yeah, i'll look you up fer sure,
you & the point
your tale makes
so i can be the wall you climb
in your next life as gecko
where camouflage forges wings
out of waiting
from familacerta
tearing apart our little
heavenly holding
moments of promise
no, mine
much worse than yours
according to the shadows i no longer stole
from your growing jack-o lantern
there! a winner!
free inside
every speciously marked box
see details
when you get to the other side
yeah, i'll look you up fer sure,
you & the point
your tale makes
so i can be the wall you climb
in your next life as gecko
where camouflage forges wings
out of waiting
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Four rules for dating Ninjas
If you want to take a Ninja to dinner
you have to ask real nice
You have to sneak up on her
whisper quite quietly
and get out of the way
before her blade slices your way
If you want to take a Ninja
to meet your parents
you have to make her think
it was all really her idea
you have to let her sneak up on them
and hope they can conceal their
surprise that you know a girl
at all, much less a Ninja
If you want to take a Ninja to bed
you have to lie down real slow
slip under the covers
let her find you there
you have to make a game of it
hide and seek, parry and pursuit
you have to overcome
your fear of knives
If you want to take a Ninja down the aisle
you have to plan it out real careful
find out her list of enemies
be sure they aren't invited
you have to let her pick out the cake
and let her cut it her way
and be very very careful
as you lick it out of her palm
you have to ask real nice
You have to sneak up on her
whisper quite quietly
and get out of the way
before her blade slices your way
If you want to take a Ninja
to meet your parents
you have to make her think
it was all really her idea
you have to let her sneak up on them
and hope they can conceal their
surprise that you know a girl
at all, much less a Ninja
If you want to take a Ninja to bed
you have to lie down real slow
slip under the covers
let her find you there
you have to make a game of it
hide and seek, parry and pursuit
you have to overcome
your fear of knives
If you want to take a Ninja down the aisle
you have to plan it out real careful
find out her list of enemies
be sure they aren't invited
you have to let her pick out the cake
and let her cut it her way
and be very very careful
as you lick it out of her palm
The fifteenth day in May
Assiniboine Forest, May 15, 2005.
Frogs hump Spring's wet backside
in the ultimate catch and release
slip-slide
trill victory
from the potbellied potholed
paths in the forest
while new mosquitoes abdomens blooming red
mimic dandelion down
and the expelled breath that sent them
aloft
the whole air/field to fill
their hum so like the back porch motion-detectors
just after they drop
their guard and everything goes
dark
underfoot the moss grows
so silently it can be heard
glows orange then red
covers logs lengths of path
all the filled-in seeping footsteps and the frogs
half-asleep in their ponds
Don't Marry the Fly echoing
cold-blooded in wet
green dreams
The light?
The light makes me squint.
Frogs hump Spring's wet backside
in the ultimate catch and release
slip-slide
trill victory
from the potbellied potholed
paths in the forest
while new mosquitoes abdomens blooming red
mimic dandelion down
and the expelled breath that sent them
aloft
the whole air/field to fill
their hum so like the back porch motion-detectors
just after they drop
their guard and everything goes
dark
underfoot the moss grows
so silently it can be heard
glows orange then red
covers logs lengths of path
all the filled-in seeping footsteps and the frogs
half-asleep in their ponds
Don't Marry the Fly echoing
cold-blooded in wet
green dreams
The light?
The light makes me squint.
like sad songs
i have seen so many movies the ones i like best
are like sad songs the ones where two people are
in love but cannot tell one another of their love
so they show it but they cannot tell these movies
they make me so sad but i love to watch them it
is good to watch to see love see i can see it right
before my eyes see there is love there is love it
is right there see i can feel it flickering silver there
is soft delight even in this
are like sad songs the ones where two people are
in love but cannot tell one another of their love
so they show it but they cannot tell these movies
they make me so sad but i love to watch them it
is good to watch to see love see i can see it right
before my eyes see there is love there is love it
is right there see i can feel it flickering silver there
is soft delight even in this
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