Splash something stronger at the base of my pint glass

It’s  more  fertile  earth

For to birth the guts & gas

One might need at night

To go on   & drive clear off

Dark  high-wire  highways

Onto red dirt, rolling on cooling red dirt, to dead ends

So bleak  a laugh comes out as a clearing cough

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WORDMATHS

November 3, 2017

 

 

“as I sleep
fast deep green seas tore at some shore.”

.
In my defence
I’m sure it’s
that most wordsmiths
have worked the Earth;
its life..its weather, its flora,
in metaphors galore.
This sun, that moon arise. A Rose.
the cliff gales, what the dark knows,
poorly lit paths,
the sway of mayhem—
the sweet wordmaths
configuring out
Reflection

.

.

.                                                                   (from 2008)

 

from Dark

June 14, 2017

I’ll start.  It’s so dark you’ll know

Your thefts of thoughts

There  left to grow

Then grabbed!

Black  blossoms

Profuse

Still proceeding from its seeds  plus

Silence, from its silence.

.

.

Upon  a  pond

Where big calm mists meet surfaces

Water bug clouds  dance down aways

And I stand to see through tree trances

This moon is broken enough to lend to substance

For  near and far bearings,  distances,

And  at first. existences.

.

I swear here’s where the strings swell in

 

CRUMBLED SOME

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

 

LOST WELL-WORN MARCHING SONG

September 28, 2016

Again  I  find  I’m

Lost on well-worn winding paths

& all the while

I  maintain  pathos,

&  I’ve  one  uncertain  smile,

Plus  tumultuous

Sturm  und  Drang,

Alongside a martyr’s song  he sang

Just under his last breath.

things people love

July 15, 2016

It’s pitchblack  and a pigeon

or  a  dove

Sits on this dashboard

in  this  car.

It looked enough like those stuffed

things  people  love.

I was thinking nothing of it

When it swelled full, far enough

For it to suggest to me,

Her filling full breast  told me this…

Her pulling my eyes to her,

Boldly, for both of us.

Oddly, the thing was fiery  in this dark.

Wings,  fiercely & stark.

They Open,  then  HeaveOut   one open hole.

Gone, she would leave one mark here

On this darkback soul

&  road.

 

BEFORE AUTHENTICITY

May 2, 2016

There’s wait  then it’s takes eight hands to handle a casket

There’s swearing  at yr insides/ & for authorities

There’s wait  when you take yr few dreams to task

Then sweating out all yr insides  before authenticity

IMG_4957

Advent, even I wait on as

Silent Partner in this stronghold.

Before I go on,

I’ll go on & make sure

The blinds are drawn.

.

.

When I’m

Aware/Awake  It’s gone cold,

For me to know it,

I’ll go on & need you some

I’ll go on & remind me some

I’ll go and turn my life down some

I’ll sit myself down until

I’ll see myself still enough

To behold

We’re meant, both,

Silent partners in this stronghold.

.

.

.                 (from 2010)

 

 

 

Trouser Cuffs, turquoise moor muddy.

Shuddering shadow. He is soon just

A moonlit man. Trapped door

Was his  “I’m not here” fuss.

Dry sob. & In a stall.

I marshal  his resources for

All  outdoors  All

.

.20160222_054515

.

 

HEY, ONE FACT/ CRAYON BOX

January 27, 2016

On a rough rainy predawn day

Back too tough on me maybe

Allowed  out back  fuh full moon

Is enshrouded.  dire.

Tho’ I’m too low on melatonin

Dawn, I’ll get  my crayon box

Out  &  rub out

A prairie fire