Just one moment

If it is

Just one moment

Supine as

A girl with beautiful lines

Her small chest rising

In early morning

Legs like a young foal

Excited by the mist of dawn

She turns like a ribbon

Uncurling from its bow

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As only truth will

For I have never

Touched you

Nor looked keenly into your eyes

Where flecks of gold reside

I have not

Made a circle of my arms

Nor placed your hand against my skin

In whispering we tell the bond, far and long

You reached me before, I knew to look

Like coming back from a journey

There you were, the one I always needed

Familiar and apart

In the courage of your determining

You are a whirlwind

You are energy and life made electric

You stir even the dry river, full

Bringing with you

The power of you

As redolent and unapologetic as

Only truth will

Of being

c62At twenty

when most young people

have such inner light they need

no tanning

I stood in the Pre-Raphaelite section

of the foreign museum

where prisms of light gathered

in tepees over head

born with an exaggerated self-consciousness

it felt as if all the disinterested

milling around staring at art

with their mouths open and crumbs from croissants

smearing their lapels

were disapproving

it wasn’t self aggrandized

I knew then as I know now

I am just one of a million million

but the glare of the crowd

was like a purse being pulled inward

gathering her fret

I’d been inspected too closely, too frequently

as a child prone to blunder and freedom

reined by yoke of adults disapprobation and neglect

now it felt like every stare

was a leach on my skin

sucking for marrow

I wondered

at the girls who posed for masters

in cold bathtubs of water

approximating Ophelia’s death throes

or imagined when they

lay quiet in their grave

mouths still stained with laudanum

life plucked by the need for art

art approximating life and not

artifice struck me then

unable like the fawn colored girl beside me

to walk with certitude

she was only a few inches taller

though her neck was more a swan than cat

she held little more potential

yet held the world by its umbilical

whilst I sought out back doors

to any exhibit of youth

it didn’t sit well on my angular shoulders to

flaunt or even preen unaware

I had never known how to un-know

the unbearable lightness of being

(last line and title from Nesnesitelná lehkost bytí by Milan Kundera)

Shine on

33375321740_85cc0d50b9_z

It is not

ficklety of cat

rubbing leg in faux earnest

nor

those clamored souls with

wine soaked language rolling ebullient

reefer in sardonic prose

It is not

deftness of entreaty wound around

stocking nor thickness of honey consumed bread

turning truth to sticky fingers

pinching air in thought

naming the stars

underneath canvas where tents

suspend redolent arias and

forest creatures lament

shrill bleat of humanities

persisting encroachment

though you

rising from steamy bath

ruddier by your delve

bright as a regained penny

shining like evening pearl

you

silver limbed and black of eye

rival the moon at her dearest rise

you

are velvet lament beneath air

a song of shivering moments

burning like freed embers

from dazzling height

you diminish never

you shine on

spreading your

arms into

hungry night

Presque vu

MSDMAOF EC057A noise disturbed deep night

rinsing slumbering cloak of peace

in my wake I almost see

the outline of you beckoning

come out to the moon

you sign

dancing in peals

incomplete and ethereal

with crooked smile

turning your feet across

the epiphany of carpet

checkered in fistfuls of

left over dream

where

what you think you see

is uncertain and irregular

touching magic between

there and here

as time can lisp

and places exist

that are not with day

fully real

B side

franccca7oise-dorleac-photo_03One

There you play your favorite B side and drive in your mind

fermenting beyond chicory

no-one else knows

basking in old songs

she finds the segment of Clementine

hidden from view in liquor box

melting resistance

as nationalists surge in Catholic crimson

could be now or a light house seeking ship

printed beneath creamy lost voices

 

Two

She could propel herself with saline drying her toes white

transfixed on survival as

Boudicca led bronze and stone fighters

daubed azure over thorny field

if she lived today she’d share a Menthol Salem Light with Stevie Nicks

warning women against Xanax

in Miu Miu sunglasses

capturing the drum-beat of her many-armed dervish

as a little girl learned to spell

sounding out her letters

heroine in slow motion

A

B

C

fire

walk

with

me

To the bottom

marie-lise-diagonala

Go down

very far down

to the bottom of the sea

I shuck you off

zip up my boots

think of corn husks and masa and chili staining madder root

lips tarnished from pleasuring you

friend without the benefit of youth

I make you come even when you’re done

leash between us yoked at the throat

pain has long learned not to show

as macular degeneration steals acuity

we are what we want to see

but you are a poor vintage

you don’t convince the blind

we who cover ourselves in your outpouring

know more of you than crows

lining hot wire

know of the sky