Focused on something outside the dusty glass
green eyes,
like a scrape on a new seed
thrown away as rotten
left to blister
and
come spring,
turn to soul.
Wild wind aches
stretches like moonlight
across the road.
The force of passing freight trains
rock the stalled car like a kiss.
You slept through the lightning
on the highway
and you swallow my eccentricities like a deep drink of ocean.
Every now and then, I miss who we used to be...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Like Martha.
Last years rosemary is over.
All that is left are
broken stalks
and brown leaves that clung on
through the winter.
I pull the former plant
up by its roots.
It will be replaced with a younger
fresh plant,
one that has not seen so many winters
Digging in the dirt
I find corn cobs from last summer
that refused to rot.
They are remainders
of great evenings,
like guests who refuse to leave
when the party is over.
Broken egg shells
I threw into the compost mix
are still here.
They were supposed to decompose,
Martha promised.
The dogs beef bones
and favorite chew toys are here too.
I am happy to find them buried
in the raised bed I created for my kitchen herbs
instead of under my pillow in the house.
The crocuses are blooming now
It wont be long before the daffodils
And tulips start to come out.
Like Martha,
I have plenty to throw away
And I dont have the patience
to wait for nature to break it all down.
All that is left are
broken stalks
and brown leaves that clung on
through the winter.
I pull the former plant
up by its roots.
It will be replaced with a younger
fresh plant,
one that has not seen so many winters
Digging in the dirt
I find corn cobs from last summer
that refused to rot.
They are remainders
of great evenings,
like guests who refuse to leave
when the party is over.
Broken egg shells
I threw into the compost mix
are still here.
They were supposed to decompose,
Martha promised.
The dogs beef bones
and favorite chew toys are here too.
I am happy to find them buried
in the raised bed I created for my kitchen herbs
instead of under my pillow in the house.
The crocuses are blooming now
It wont be long before the daffodils
And tulips start to come out.
Like Martha,
I have plenty to throw away
And I dont have the patience
to wait for nature to break it all down.
Life tastes crazy
like the strange note of probably
hit at the breaking point of your voice.
The hissing cackle
that is the death rattle
of significant noise,
rolls like apples across the hearth.
The lips of the river
lap kisses
and leave behind shiny fish scales
on my toes.
The water drifts
And easily lifts my skirts
where only sky can see.
Again.
Salt in the fresh water wind,
dry soil rubbed raw in my skin,
and the basket floats closer to the shore.
The dream knows me here
it touches me even now
in the dampness of summer
the dryness of heat.
I sweat a harsh polish
and sing that the light admonishes me,
dappled drapery beat against the fury of my naked windows.
The heartbeat of the waxing and waning moon
loves me now but it will not love me always...
like the strange note of probably
hit at the breaking point of your voice.
The hissing cackle
that is the death rattle
of significant noise,
rolls like apples across the hearth.
The lips of the river
lap kisses
and leave behind shiny fish scales
on my toes.
The water drifts
And easily lifts my skirts
where only sky can see.
Again.
Salt in the fresh water wind,
dry soil rubbed raw in my skin,
and the basket floats closer to the shore.
The dream knows me here
it touches me even now
in the dampness of summer
the dryness of heat.
I sweat a harsh polish
and sing that the light admonishes me,
dappled drapery beat against the fury of my naked windows.
The heartbeat of the waxing and waning moon
loves me now but it will not love me always...
Fissure in my memory,
full of blue noise.
Echoes breathe in hot summer air.
A voyage through the desert,with the windows down.
You would let me drive but,I have already fallen asleep at the wheel.
Where were you when I broke my soul?
Wide open screaming sky,
the sad descent of a smoking moon and the scent of burning sage.
Red eyes caught in the headlights,
a predator blinks on the cold highway.
A mountain owl screeches and bursts my midnight into stars.
Somewhere on the highway,
a fissure in my memory
full of blue noise.
full of blue noise.
Echoes breathe in hot summer air.
A voyage through the desert,with the windows down.
You would let me drive but,I have already fallen asleep at the wheel.
Where were you when I broke my soul?
Wide open screaming sky,
the sad descent of a smoking moon and the scent of burning sage.
Red eyes caught in the headlights,
a predator blinks on the cold highway.
A mountain owl screeches and bursts my midnight into stars.
Somewhere on the highway,
a fissure in my memory
full of blue noise.
Unfinished
Bits of stone cold broken glass
lying like forget me nots
where once grew
'leaves of grass'
An ocean of mediocrity
pulses with the profane
as if vulgarity were
the singular birth right of pain
well dressed blank pages
adorned in slick jackets
photographs of poets
with smiles like footnotes
distressed and in brackets
Patti, Diane, Sylvia and Anne...
lying like forget me nots
where once grew
'leaves of grass'
An ocean of mediocrity
pulses with the profane
as if vulgarity were
the singular birth right of pain
well dressed blank pages
adorned in slick jackets
photographs of poets
with smiles like footnotes
distressed and in brackets
Patti, Diane, Sylvia and Anne...
Leave a scent on the soil
Pound through the night
with the heavy footfalls of full grown deer,
the pull of wet dog,
or the pressure of the migrating sun.
Midnight pulse points
push blankets
dripping slowly to the floor,
lazy curtains
turn slowly
in the heat.
I am having trouble sleeping tonight.
The city skin is breeched,
it's weather weary boards
violated
pulled back
splintered
and left in pieces on the ground.
Someone else has been here,
left behind
indelible
black ink
on the stone cage.
A soft weak man
marks his territory
this way
with the carelessness of an afterthought,
with as much effort
as it takes to pull the trigger
of a tranquilizer.
The night moves with plentiful noise,
the wounded cries of lonely beasts
pulse
with the flow of traffic not far away.
These cages no longer have doors.
The entire wild night
is free to roam
past the protection
and the hinderance
of heavy iron bars.
The big cats no longer pace here
I do.
1998ish-2007
Pound through the night
with the heavy footfalls of full grown deer,
the pull of wet dog,
or the pressure of the migrating sun.
Midnight pulse points
push blankets
dripping slowly to the floor,
lazy curtains
turn slowly
in the heat.
I am having trouble sleeping tonight.
The city skin is breeched,
it's weather weary boards
violated
pulled back
splintered
and left in pieces on the ground.
Someone else has been here,
left behind
indelible
black ink
on the stone cage.
A soft weak man
marks his territory
this way
with the carelessness of an afterthought,
with as much effort
as it takes to pull the trigger
of a tranquilizer.
The night moves with plentiful noise,
the wounded cries of lonely beasts
pulse
with the flow of traffic not far away.
These cages no longer have doors.
The entire wild night
is free to roam
past the protection
and the hinderance
of heavy iron bars.
The big cats no longer pace here
I do.
1998ish-2007
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