STANDING BY CLOSE

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.

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If I could face the palace/Going holed up in a hotel/Is not one way I’d go

IMPALPABLE

February 24, 2017

 

Neruda’s  impalpable ash”

Chants away/

In the fray of my own tiny ruins.

.

If I touch/ near the fire/

Impalpable ash..”

Chimes away/

And supports the clearing away  all

Insubstantial,

Makes way to take less blinding steps away

From  cave  to  climax

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I’ve come to have left out

Crucial  rescue  tools

From my matutinal

Lost-combination  locked bag of tricks.

In touch  information.

Out

 

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(3 yrs back)

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)

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.      .      .      .      it’s time  i need to feed this emaciated body of work.

.      .      .      .      this one’s for one who can console her man

1 RHYME 4 NOW

July 12, 2013

B4

7:44 am

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

 

 

 

fertile/faint

March 18, 2012

“Faint fumes of confusion”

is warranted as a title,

entitled, for a forward

to a body of work about:

highland trails, thorough haze,

brash dense brush, broken fences,

rainy bald boulders, wildflowers,

sunlight threads, down onto mosses,

log lichen, mushrooms.

And as sea fog works so as a grey god’s cloaks,

far mountains are fathers.

Clinky silver rivulets

where waterbugs & yellow leaves

float off.   I can’t.

I’ve rolled off

my fertile sheets.

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(taken from long ago)

“MAY I HAVE A WORD?”

October 7, 2011

As I wait,  backed up with  empty  of late,

I called and left a recorded message

To call back & send back  a pushy mantra,

Something she found funny, profound,

& both obvious  and  rare.

A word, would, a phrase to free me  would.

I could flop the tip into

A line, alive near the end of the verse,

And work it some  to start up stuff

Enough for all of us.