It’s too hot outside to go bare footed


Words are extroverts
Supping on fornication 

Silence is a girl 

You overlooked in grade school

And years later

Reminded of her tight braids

The color of caramel

You seek her in crowds 

Like a woman without children

Will hesitate

Ever so slightly 

On a babies wispy crown

Half thinking

Her baren hands

Unworthy

We carry our pains

Wrapped in butcher’s brown paper

With yesterday’s headlines

Bled on our feet

As rain purges the feeling and night

Grows trees of velvet

In the deep inhalation 

of a closed door against 

Night storm

For Paul

016_imogen-cunningham_theredlistIn the other place of keeping

afterward when door is softly closed

and light extinguished

where flowers bloom without need of sun

perfuming air with unseen stamen

at last you are unburdened, free of torment

we sit at oiled wood table

eating buttered toast with fingertips

you tell me of  real things

that time you fell into a river as

you reached for tires swinging overhead

just one more inch and you’d have been saved

from submerging with oily fish

and yet you say, it taught you

the value of sinking and how quiet

beneath the world can be

where creatures with opaque eyes glide past

watching you try to breathe

they called it a near drowning

you claimed second-sight

we shuffle our checkers, mindful

it’s your turn to win tonight

 

for Paul

you were a brother of sorts

sprinting ahead of jostling crowd

lean and bronzed by effort

your heart a flutter of machination

once you said, now I am old

and I laughed and reminded you

there’s so much time left

except you knew

and I did not

time can collapse upon itself

just as it begins so it can end

all the days we spent waiting for the next

better to live now and climb

that tree to sling rope and dangle seat

children long after us

will come to the river and watch

each others fear and then wonder

jumping into the void

and as you are gone

I clear away the plates and ready for the next day

not sure it will be free of rain

I hear you outside among the trees

you are laughing at me

for my fear of things I cannot know

remember, you say, it’s not about control

it’s about having the courage to try

I watch you walk toward the river

you are straight and lean again

no scars, no pain cross your way

I want to go with you but you have told me

it is not yet time

we’ll play again, be patient

master this moment

live now in the warm rush of water

watching overhead

moving clouds turning from blue to white

and then to grey

 

For Paul. You counted, and you mattered.

 

Less

165549735_cd2d7777b5The future will not decide, I decide

if I find myself alone in possession of these feelings

at an age when the cliffs stand a little deeper in the water

the sea will recede and return the next day

less me

for it is my belief

we can make choices

based upon empty doorways

standing between the weft of things

knowing, our time

though it goes blurred into fathomless future

need not defy sense

and us born with less

we don’t want trinkets and rooms of wrinkled souls

talking about the caucus of the world

we want to live and burn

in that bright solitary

and when those we love

are no more

our place is not to wait for natural means

but take to surging waves

walk through a mirror of water

regaining in emptying out

those painful places we hold

dear and near to us

all these years we inhabit life

like a nervous electricity

will wait to strike

just once

and leave the deed

blackening the tree

long it stands marked

for future generations to remark

I wonder how

I wonder what

caused this burn

she lays her hands against her pulse

such a little flicker of life

and then

one blow

one determining

and it is snuffed out

to join the star dust of our might

you think me cowardly or without insight?

I hear nothing now

but the swell and call of shells

hypnotized by the whorl

of their ever decreasing

circle

returning to

sand

Her kind

ccccWhom she learned the art or dissonance of protest from

Whether it was ingrained or born on hot kitchen towel like fresh bread

Rising, the irresistible urge to devour all whilst fresh

She couldn’t say

But catching herself

Playing little shadow games

It became clear

Like the women before her she was not

A straight talker

For she was unable to speak plainly

She hurt all over

Her whole self would have confessed

Oh timorous Lord

I don’t seem capable of much

It is enough to keep my head on my shoulders?

The ache the screw the twist

I am tired before I have woken

Because truth be told

Humanity sickens my soul

And when you hate your own

There’s nowhere to go

 

They tried

Oh they tried

To interest her in their tête à tête

And she grew sickly

And incomplete

Only the circulated vowels of earth

Could ease her need

To be freed

Of her kind

Is this you?

quote-i-said-wouldn-t-it-be-nice-instead-of-having-these-women-fight-with-each-other-over-men-which-jennifer-beals-13767

Portrait of man and two women in orchard --- Image by © Robert Recker/Corbis

Is it you?

the girl who knows lustful eyes are on her back

is it you?

talking to your female friends

when a man enters

you reveal your choice every time

the man comes first

women only afterward

is it you?

thinking they don’t notice

when your eyes drift

from female conversation

to a man’s deeper tone

as if attention were garnered toward

the male of the species alone

don’t you see? you put down women

with every favor you give a man over

she

and whilst you may say

no that’s not true I am an equal opportunist

an observer will note

the change and variance of your attention 

you are a creature of men

owned by their regard

choosing them first in every scenario

sadly undermining

the worth of women

it is surely what lets us down most

the value we place on each other

being less than the other gender

call me an old embittered dyke

biased in her choice

if you need to

but truth speaks

louder than worship

and I must ask

is this you?

Fond of ghosts

screen-shot-2017-04-28-at-11-05-30-amToday

I am thankful

that I am not

you

you are what I could not be and partly remain

If I hadn’t fled and turned my back to

the inevitable crush of destiny, spinning on roulette table

the soft nape of cloth worn by dice

 

For years I regretted leaving myself behind

and those few memories not slicing

at my veins

but your life

engenders mindfulness

and I am

so relieved

 

This feels good

the city of our frying was so hungry

It wanted to devour youth

to sake itself on the fervor of the anointed needy

how anyone has the endurance?

how you do?

I have no idea

 

As I scaled my escape with trapeze skin shoes

the Harlequin came back from her exile in the countryside

the sequined one didn’t see how the city ate us up in little spoonful

she whose cheeks were red with fresh air, wanted so badly to return, throw her hunger at the crowd in fistfuls

and that’s why we crossed wires, finally hanging-up our respective ends

 

But you

puzzle me like the last page of a much creased book

I relate to your merciless sober tilt

a shared connection that runs the length of our separation

how the rest of your life will bid

how

you are when we’re not talking

how the world sounds through your ears or looks through your eyes

 

I feel you must have

chains

on

your

wrists

you must be a new

in a large loud give

and that frightens me more than it should

considering once

I almost walked in the same buckled shoes

 

What made you stay?

and I leave?

what helps you imprint this life and nourishes the void I feel

imagining I had never left and still to turn the page

such terrors seem to separate us

beyond what could reconnect

proof perhaps

of the strength of the heart

to defy

logic

and

grow fond of

ghosts

One shall remain unseen

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The owl

left gouges to your scalp

without a mouth

you spoke

do not go my way child

learn from error the better path

where? where granny?

behind you

where? where granny?

in front of you

where? where granny?

beside you

where? where granny?

she stood in formation an army of past

familiar eyes different words

don’t go my way, forge your own

inherit nothing of madness left to roam

your genes like spirits grown too wild

avoid the drink it gives you ghosts

spare the rod, saturate desire

lust for obliteration and self immolation

my reality makes shoes disappear under beds

the ache of springs unused to their test

it is our code to set fire to the best of ourselves

stay your hand as it passes

the naked flame

see into my cinders

another method for staying sane

when you itch … when you wish

to fling yourself into oblivion

think of me

cold and dead

this is not your future yet

you have pockets heavy with planting

get to it, press deeper the iron into soil

until you pull out the old roots taking space

make room for new

it is the labor of the faithful

tiring and requiring patience

do not forget to reach in deep

for just when you think you’ve got the last

one shall remain

unseen