I’m finding  the fix is in

 

The re-regrets  &  vexed reveries

 

Prove more pronounced this evening and

 

Soft  beats  a  sleeplessness

 

That only a cozy unsolved misery

 

Can sidle up too

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B L I N D I N G

February 27, 2018

“Ill  at  ease”

Will be one accurate way,

When  I can think then straight about it,

One apt way to shout it.

They  say  they

“Say it as it is”, (they’re pissed)

They say  ” just being honest, man”

“No B.S.  man” (slurring pissed)

They’re weak to only “speak their minds”.

And when I,

Gently as I can,

Retranslate to that guttural, but frank tongue,

I  see

They’re consequently

Hurt.

&  then there’s me  in this blinding  open lot

W/blood on my shirt.

SOME SKETCHY SANCTUM

December 4, 2017

 

Some seem to see the floor of the sea

as a sketchy, yet effective sanctuary.

They’re thinking, I think, that it’s tucked away

good. &  Could be quite quiet.

Sure would be  you’d dream good there.

Surely, it goes  you must breathe free much slower.

Sure,  bluegreen cracks for surface lightening.

But, You’ll see  that jeweled fishes,

Stilled  with  witness,

Flee at the softest flourish.

And bets are..sandbeds there are busy with movement.

How can my dreams take when I’m floating awake?

 

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RYE INROADS

August 4, 2017

On  inroads, scraping,

& Faced with less escaping;

One  reclamation.

.

.

I’ve  erased  all boasts

Of   encroaching  clarity.

Thought I’d caught a glimpse.

 

OUR PAIRNESS

July 22, 2017

 

 

It wouldn’t, understandably,

Be unwise,

Though circumspect,

You look directly into the seeing eyes

Of an astute, & ably Miss

And ask  the tallest florist

“What’s the apt blossom symbolism

Best for telling  my steady;

‘You know already..

Our  Pairness   (no lie)

Best Real izes     Oh Relief

As we  just justify

Our  being'”

.

“Those, that nosegay  near the ceiling”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.                   i)

M  U  C  H

often it’s uncertain   to see,

to see the true things through,

but certainly sometime’s there’s time

when surely much of what’s new

when noticed might matter

to you or rather

to  me

.

.                    ii)

.

D  U  E

I fear I forget that the frail,

nearly unable, but

when a whisper of   Will…

when they muster an incalculable

measure of  reach

to straighten, and lean up

for what’s due.

That’s alot to wait for

.

The Freshest thing in the clearing

by the pond’s sunk boat,

near a nest,  There’s this ringing

drop, possibly  just now  dotting

one leaf,  left  just new

by all the dew

That’s what I wait for

.

.

.

.

.

(from 9 years back)

BREATHING EXERCISES

June 29, 2017

 

 

I.

She won’t roll away & not watch me.

Y’see, I won’t  seem to take,

When I dream (or I wake).

to take  another breath  before

The scene fades, before

lights go up

then down  to more of a zoom.

She waits in our bedroom for me to resume.

II.

We went to go to a yoga class.

Where a barefooted, hairpleated group leader;

beautiful, and calmer than a

merciful last coma,

She insisted that our deep breath is

the gist of all of it  (within, & out).

We rearrange the short & tall of it.

The Gist to change the depth, see,

of our sea of possibillity.

When we inhale

we rememorize  our own gods.

We exhale our hell.  barefoot.  on a mat.

Whew. To all that.

III.

When I get to go to the Gulf of Mexico

I’ll try out  into the drink,  1st thing.

I’ll try not to think when I try to let go

&  sink when I deadman’s float all day,

into what I think of as a spiritual drift, in a way.

I’ll hold onto my breath,

face down,

head down.

 

STILL FOR NOW

June 20, 2017

I imagine one magpie, done with one sky,

Still for now   might start right off balancing  on a line or a limb.

Not addled  by unfair air current.  Past  its  bends.

More fast..characteristically,

Intrinsically, instinctually…

Beating,  feet & hands down,

The land’s own  teetering friends.

.

.

.

“I’m a bird, not an ornithologist”  Barnett Newman, painter

 

 

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

 

PRE-POETRY

May 31, 2017

Foraging is one way we fauna

Have found purpose in all this breathing

We’ll search, and trust that sustenance

Will surface to topsoil in time for reverence

.

.

.

 

 

(unfinished)