April 21, 2017
Please presume It’s unsure for you as well
Assume We’re leaning
(an intangible caress)
I lean into
The careening custody of my mess.
April 21, 2017
An ordinary miracle
Might make my day good night.
An everyday freak hailstorm
Should soften the certain gravitas of agony..
Would my monday to monday/ Gone on to a good gravy, when
My dumptruck of good luck sails in?
All this will be laid to waste.
Then strong sprouts/ in not long/ will no doubt
Green the place.
(5 yrs back)
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.
April 8, 2017
An imaginary friend, a French kid, he calls
(They call the wind mistral)
All the Northern winter wind..mistral.
En Francais, one says, Eventhough baby jesus…
Creche shepherds are threatened by mistral.
They hold on to their hats, insteada solomnly go
Doffing their fuckin desert chapeaux.
March 29, 2017
“You know it never has been easy
Whether you do or do not resign
Whether you travel the breadth of extremities
Or stick to some straight line…
In the church they light the candles
And the wax rolls down like tears
There is the hope and hopelessness
I’ve witnessed all these years.”
-Joni Mitchell, from “Hejira”
STORM WINDOWS IN SOUTHWEST FLORIDA
In this small part of the planet
Nobody stores storm windows,
Though probably, storms away won’t
Muster much more blow
Than in this small part of the planet.
TWO ALARMS ( Impatient On All )
Is or isn’t it odd
that the gods have their own take
on what all gets the go ahead
and all just what must wait?
I was brought up to believe in
That All’s “seen through” for some reason./
All would happen ”as it should”/
But What when intuition warns it’s all gone wrong,
and it’s all gone wrong all day?
When two alarms should’ve gone off when rising?
When once again you wince & wait on your own way?
March 22, 2017
West, we rode & wrested away of, save the olde facades of Savannah.
When in Jesus-sodden Southern Georgia
Some sign solomn told me “try him”,
I ran & ran that mantra by
& waited ’till my lips straightened.
Here, I take my sweet (& dear, fleeting) time
Rake up raw data…
I’m readyish I guess for you to take my order
March 8, 2017
young acidTongued Erato,
go forward yr foul followThrough,
spitWhisper her cryptic figures.
i’d dampen the barb,
reshapened of fogWebs.
i’ll soften all blows against the liveWire
i’ll try to translate all i need
from freed ashes
from the spillFree gashes in the flare’s hottest fireGrate.
If I could face the palace/Going holed up in a hotel/Is not one way I’d go
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)
February 28, 2017
She goes shy of the very shadows;
completely infused in first section hard-copy news,
She peruses column leads,
Refusing all too-sad reads.
Usually my views.
So sure you got some guy here who’s seriously shy
To fill skies with a gloom-jam just eye-jabbed in.
It can kill a guy.
But the goo you stand up against and
The two tons of blue mood you face
Too often. Too fierce to soften & go.
This man here could not just stand there,
She can’t relate
To the cinema I saw so late
She says they blur more black than white.
She says they end not..just not right.
February 24, 2017
Neruda’s “impalpable ash”
In the fray of my own tiny ruins.
“If I touch/ near the fire/
And supports the clearing away all
Makes way to take less blinding steps away
From cave to climax
I’ve come to have left out
Crucial rescue tools
From my matutinal
Lost-combination locked bag of tricks.
In touch information.
(3 yrs back)