what?

words

spoken

lingering

just

outside

ears

that

never 

hear

 

another's window

the shadows are longing

across the lawn and

the bells in the church

outside my window

are calling out for recess

far away along a river

the birds are making pretty

and the trees are dancing fierce

they banished all the clocks 

and it's the birthday of the moon

***

the reeds along the shoreline are nervous
                               anticipating the season

living in a blur
                     of all the falling moments

         between

clever breezes
                      turning into gales

under sleepless stars
            
           and all the moon forgot

                         the lake is lapping secrets

     far away from the lonely crowded city


 
                      

thoughts in a lake

white faceless sand

watching crisp blue water

leaking over memory

i've ignored the warnings of sages

and tried to climb inside your danger

to dance along your hollow hallway

fiercely stealing your sad smile

floating in the mishigami

dulling the blade of light

sinking under memory

they took you in the time of Lions

fearing your bright heart eyes

wrapping you in dark earth

breaking your tender bones

white faceless sand

watching crisp blue water

slipping into memory

for FGL

i went to the woods.

i am off the grid for a few days.  i'll be writing in the wild and posting later.

august 17th, 1937

the brightest littlest star

grew from twined cities

and floats in this world

tossing grace, love, and

honor from her basket

with a hand of strength

a twinkling firm smile

and all our loving laughter

what Garcia Marquez said to that horrible brain eating disease

tricking through blue fields

of sunshine colored orchids

i live in the warm mouth

of a donkey made for tilling

and the reach of my arms

embraces all the moments 

stolen beneath palm trees

peeped at through keyholes

overheard through thin walls

whispered under street lamps

and devoured in the night

i am dancing now

pressed close to the sex

of 100 rainy Remedioses

i am falling in love again

every day every hour

every moment every now

* * *

grasping at butterflies

while summer crunches

under fleeting footsteps

the peaches glare at me

they know the secrets

i am unable to keep

i've forgotten the names

of rivers running through me

beyond all my busyness

i have a pocket full of crickets

that sing a sad song

every time i tell a joke

---

city
of stone
        cracks
        fissures
seeping steam

under the gray light
of yesterday's rain

city 
of light
       bruises
       pains
tripping shadow

under the heavy stone
of tomorrow's snow

               rooftops
doorways
               windows
fences 
          motion

bumble bees

it is a pleasant night

love, triumph, & danger

swarm around my head

just waiting to sting me

remember

i hid for a while today

under the arms of grace

and ageless love

turning over the how 

and why of what we are

emerging in the quiet hours

ready for the tomorow

after hiding for today

damn birds

the sky grumbles silly

and sad heavy air clings

around my temples

the birds are making fun of me

i have a tiny cut on my heart

that reminds me to keep you

forever in my pulse

the birds have stolen my hat

i've been working in the garden

my back is bronzed strong

and my souls have grown roots

the birds are scheming my demise
 

***

shattered waterfalls

under the eyes of birds

falling foaming forming

over the soft of your hair

over the tiny of your ears

over the strength of your shoulders

over the curve of your breasts

over the sway of your hips

over the length of your legs

onto the wiggle of your toes

* * *

the elections are coming

  i was voted 

"I Never Know If He's Serious"

                   by my senior class

           but that was before the new buds

on my melancholy cactus began to grow

           giving all of us hope

the breezes are interrogating my hair

         about why it wants to leave me

while the sun smells like oranges

        and all the clocks have stopped

lazy haiku

stare at tomorrow

with yesterday before me

rain hits the window

because i have insurance

trevor has a long shapely beard

rounded spectacles and the look

of a 19th century psychoanalyst

save for his rubbery blue gloves

trevor drops a liquid into my eyes

turning them to large dark pools

through a prick on my backhand

he fills my veins with syrupy dye

from a mad-scientist machine

flashes of light capture my retina

displaying red planets on a screen

roving the landscape for signs life

i blearily stare at a chart of letters

in the hallway i hear a silver tongue

rattling another subject's stats into

a space-aged recording device

the voice then glides into the room

and that mercury-tongued messenger

tells me that my managed diabetes has

not deteriorated my sharp blueness

...

finding
a new now
while nations rage
hate finds heavy footing
slippery tongues promise grace
love leaks through fingers
eyes set the stage
finding a new
now

where did the night go?

remarkable hours drain

out underneath our laughter

watching little and big hands

crawl over numbers that 

steel our will

...

low-lit thoughts

collide along heart walls

with signals crossed 

like fingers

gracing weathered stone

leaking the shadows

that used to cover

skins and scrapes

of past passion

forged in the corner

of a smile and in 

the whisps of hair

like a river carrying all

the yeses noes and maybes

that lit the light colliding playfully

all along the heart walls

i can't believe the news today

               sometimes wet cliffs

               branches tangling

               somewhere yesterday

               we whispered love

               someone tell the papers

               the sun forgot to rise

IN THE YEAR OF THE RAT

 

 

i was formed in the oil of the 70s

in the blueness of eyes

around the corner from 

broken hearts & broken ladders

under the eaves

that never held the rain

and in the blink of forever

Happy Birthday to Me

 

Myth

i went out looking to be broken

there is a myth

the myth of the perfect peach

a texture that raises the hair on your neck

a scent that closes your eyes

a taste that drips into your soul

i spend my years trying

 to eat that perfect peach

crawling inside the pulp

never finding the juice

that defies all explanation

i went out looking to be broken