When my mother died,
I did not get another—
one being
more than enough
for a lifetime.
(November 20, 2020)
Thanksgiving
Category: control
parenthesis (95)
with an accent slightly different
than any dialect spoken here
a hole opens around us like an amoeba
and we are contained within
an other’s misinterpretation
as if we were not a part
of the conversation like a rock
is not a part of the river
which erases incrementally
shaping the rock as it surges past
oblivious like memory to the change
as each remembrance rises
to take dominion everywhere
if only for the moment it takes
to speak and then to unhear
all the patterns which brought us here
(November 19, 2020)
drifting homeward (89)
dropping soft scraps of light
like rose petals on the floor
the moon threads her way
between the bare branches
purpose requires ambition
which the moon lacks other
than its spiral descent
toward a predestined end
where is the metaphor
who holds reins so slack
trusting the horse’s nature
to find a slow way back
(October 29, 2020)
heal thyself (87)
all I have are dull words
to bludgeon my tongue
into submission
but if i strop the blade
the leather’s length
until the edge gleams
as with sliced ribbons of light
then I might excise
the shadows from my heart
without a trace of blood
to mark my disillusions
(October 27, 2020)
who tells the tale
from a work in progress: process, not a journey (65)
she speaks of her self
and all that entails
.
your memory is not hers
less so than those daffodils
.
shut up and listen
(June 19, 2020)
Control’s an Illusion
I negotiate the moment:
the shape of a shell;
the color of a shoe;
the proper knot for a noose;
what was said when,
and to whom. As if time
whispers the secrets
it finds in tide pools:
what belongs
scuttling in the rocks,
and what has washed in
with the last full moon.
(May 24, 2020)
fog
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey”(59)
of course it’s never either or
a yes a no one path or some other
no matter how far you attempt to see
before it bends in the brush
or how detailed the pro con list
you lay out with little checks
primly contained in tightly drawn boxes
your life is always cluttered
with could haves would haves buts
yets and never-minds
all the vaguely grey spaces
where it’s troublesome to see
as if your smudged glasses were removed
in order to clean the day’s detritus
away and what blurred clarity
you possessed expands and smears
toward an ever-darkening horizon
(May 2, 2020)
to define is to limit
poetry is nothing
poetry is everything
poetry is thought
poetry is words
poetry is silence
poetry is emotion
poetry is gibberish
poetry is vague
poetry is ambiguous
poetry is precise
poetry is concise
poetry is babble
poetry is light
poetry is dark
poetry is mind
poetry is heart
poetry is hidden
poetry is everywhere
poetry is pervasive
poetry is absence
poetry is laughter
poetry is tears
poetry is love
poetry is hate
poetry is simple
.
poetry is nothing
poetry is everything
poetry is metaphor
poetry is plain
poetry is complex
poetry is slant
poetry is curved
poetry is bent
poetry is straight
poetry is cubed
poetry is convex
poetry is obtuse
poetry is infinite
poetry is hermeneutic
poetry is occult
poetry is transcendent
poetry is god
poetry is zen
poetry is buddha
poetry is Christ
poetry is religion
poetry is atheist
poetry is glib
poetry is serious
poetry is dirt
.
poetry is nothing
poetry is everything
poetry is earth
poetry is air
poetry is fire
poetry is water
poetry is elemental
poetry is irrelevant
poetry is submission
poetry is dominance
poetry is coy
poetry is rude
poetry is blatant
poetry is obvious
poetry is obscure
poetry is orgasmic
poetry is impotent
poetry is sex
poetry is flirtation
poetry is destruction
poetry is resurrection
poetry is creation
poetry is filth
poetry is shit
poetry is dust
.
poetry is nothing
poetry is everything
poetry is breath
poetry is death
poetry is ice
poetry is tongue
poetry is bowels
poetry is piss
poetry is you
poetry is me
poetry is us
poetry is other
poetry is privilege
poetry is poverty
poetry is gender
poetry is genderless
poetry is cadence
poetry is dissonance
poetry is power
poetry is gravity
poetry is nature
poetry is voice
poetry is spit
poetry is sight
poetry is blind
(April 11, 2020)
Dream Journal 37: He Woke to a Memory Which Only Happened in Metaphor
As they walked, she spoke and collected items she saw along the trail. A kind of reverse Hansel and Gretel: instead of finding her way back by dropping bread crumbs, she wanted to become lost, and collected markers which would have shown their way home. Finally, she asked if he would read a draft of something she wrote. He disliked reading friend’s work (it was all too intimate: entering another’s mind), but he said for her he would. He lay down on the soft grass, entranced by her voice. She told a story as she placed the objects she had found (an acorn, a feather, a stone, a dead butterfly, a ribbon) in a shallow hole next to where he lay. After a while, he sat up and glanced at the objects in the hole. He said, it’s like a witch’s ingle. She laughed gently, and began to loosely tie his hands with the ribbon as she finished her story. He watched her dark eyes focus on the task, becoming lost in their intensity. When she was done, she said to him, now you’re supposed to untie yourself, and become free. He said, one would first have to want to be free. With nothing more to say, she walked away leaving him in the woods.
(April 1, 2020)
mantra
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (33)
I have
no
control
(February 28, 2020)
