April 12, 2017
Blackened breezes rustle
Sacred/ olive trees, skies muscled thick.
I took a sight that set me more lost
More sour than seasick.
I see him, knees bloodied,
Face drawn/ down
I was being/ once/
Just a man also.
I spied/ by my back down
To my murk/
I cried/ by my own shadow,
But did not cry out,
To interrupt all that too intimate.
When I was a young/ more willful man,
I fasted/ from dawn friday
Until the last of easter/ Today
I’m past that/ I take the families
To the best italian place,
For sacrificial lamb & blood red wine
& all before that, maybe grace.
March 3, 2017
Still and night wind/
And still standing in/ Deep in the shadow end/
Waiting in the wading pool To see my moon bounce to me some/
Wait! At the airport bar the atmosphere swooned bountiful/
Maybe sating metaphoring mating whoring fourth down plays/
Bountifully Enhanced Last Chancing that face it, basicly it’s too late not to dare/
Back here I’m not so rough, I swoon my own way, I tarry, and my moon’s enough
(photo credit/Jared French/ Clinton)
.mangata: reflection of the moon on the sea at night (Swedish)
January 13, 2017
1 ONE WINTER ADDITION
teachers to small children
the world over
pastors to parish
they all will tell the pretty truth
(aside the pretty lies, “pretty lies”)
that crystalline snowflakes
are unique. unique.
and maybe later in both
and sunday school classes
(and in all their varieties the world over)
small children might make snowflakes for themselves
they’ll fold lacy paper exactly in half
with a good crease
and taking their round-ended scissors
they’ll cut their very own unique cuts
so that when everyone unfolds their lacy paper
and lifts it above their heads
everyone can laugh at their uniquenesses
but one thing that ministers & mentors
rabbis & nuns will fail to add
is that those one-of-a-kind snowflakes
in their descent
on icy black currents
all their night fall
2 STILL, NOT STILL
It’s the coldest morning this year
And the Farmer’s Almanac says this year
There’s gonna be a winter of ’em
Me, I won’t mind
I like how loud the still is
forty years ago a brother from Chicago
called the cold wind
I wonder if it’s still true
I wonder if “that muthafuckin Hawk”
is still cursed & bundled against
in the only city cited for its big blow.
When island settings lose their place
When our mornings sun there
warms our skin, bare,
There’s these shade floral sanctuaries,
And, I’m betting, perfect for setting your eyes on…
God’s perfect line, one horizon.
When all won’t free you,
Won’t call you from all this freezing
Point of view,
This illusionary season,
(from a decade ago)
January 4, 2017
Unless these kisses
Fortuitous but for the most part,
Stay imaginary, yet not useless,
Stay & not start.
I will wear Hope’s
& will not fear openly for the most part,
Right in defining light/ Right off the shadow
Where cooly I coddle our heart.
December 21, 2016
For the time being
I’m not being knuckled under some
Tho’ I do own a cramp in my own home camp
I’m achy in my aerie home
I got soot at my feet I just gotta stamp
But I bed on shredded graffiti
My conquests just see it as confetti
Me, I just insist it’s imaginary
I can’t resist It’s perfunctory
November 11, 2016
“Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lovers. It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of. One you haven’t seen in a long time…”
“.. A fond, old, faraway room?”
-from “Kafka On The Shore”, Hanuki Murakami
We mind that there mustn’t be dust
On those closed blinds.
Behind those blinds,
We find us.
We find ourselves salving
Our sore selves,
Saving us so
And after each chapter,
Which did us delirious,
It can be meant as some payment,
It can serve to defray..
It can’t save us, when in a night and a day,
without fail, We derail.
“I choose the rooms that I live in with care,
the windows are small and the walls almost bare,
there’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair”
Leonard Cohen,RIP, from “Tonight Will be Fine”
October 27, 2016
“Where will I be When I go back home?
Who will I see When I’m all alone?
And What’ll I do?”
–David Crosby, from “Where Will I be?”
The main I’ve heard
Is that people want a partner
“So I don’t die alone”
umm, I Embrace, Tho’ waste, my own time.
At the end of all my nights
I might had been clean & clever enough
For her to had laughed, and had left
Her hand on my thigh
As I wait down the night sky
Toughening up for day.
October 19, 2016
It’s more than coincidence how
That “pillow” rhymes/w “shadow”.
If I had to,
& the sense to know,
I’d set dark dreams aside.
If I lied some, & thought things
All tied up,
I’d fake it some, I’d hope
For a wide enough break,
& loose rope,
& in this broken cup
I hold my spirits up.
.Heraclitus: “ the essence of things has the habit to hide”
“Very little grows on jagged rock/Be grounded/Be crumbled/
So wildflowers will come up” -Rumi