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
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)
September 27, 2013
I won’t unearth or search for words to say
(He’ll stall, awaiting rainfall, mainly all his way)
I would not define an exact indefinite shine on black
(He’ll stall, & sit out ever-bless ed respites,
Given all irresponsible slack)
. . . . it’s time i need to feed this emaciated body of work.
. . . . this one’s for one who can console her man
July 12, 2013
the lawn man gone & begun
the back 40
B4 the dead’s morning dew
had dried he tried
B4 I’d tried a poem (1ce more)
he won’t wait to test the waters
he won’t stall off fallshort falters
he don’t palm off paltry gestures from loiterers
good things won’t cum to those who wait
for a rainier day
I would think
nor a plainer way