uncertainty cloaks most
encounters with a glazed
misunderstanding enough so
he rarely ventures out confident
he’s safe within his decisions
(January 24, 2017)
-
hunger hurts like desire
after sapphoit’s easy to pick up an applefrom the ground and be sated;you were always out of reach.(January 17, 2017)
-
enough
by
“The point is not to find a reader, the point is the telling itself.”–Anne Carsonthought arises like sacrificeburning flesh and ash to heavenwithin the word before the wordand then gone at the lastI struggle inside and desireresponse without prerequisiteoutside ventures to initiatemyself into fire’s circling dancedarkness gathers on the edgeand whispers to the flameslet me in let me throughlet me sing this night to youno other hears the flutterof soft footsteps in the dust(January 17, 2017) -
tattoos
by
I am inscribed,the words scratchedinto my skin like sin.I have forgottenwhere I stoppedbeing whole, whenthe fragments felllike icebergscalving into the sea.Incremental momentsof unremarked cowardicechipped bits away,until the lies I’ve toldbecame the life I led.(January 15, 2017) -
The Oblivious Now
what are you waiting for?the end of the worldretirementthe weekend, lunchsomeone to save youfrom the boredoma story to believeto attach a purposeto your wanderinga meaning, or perhapsyour mouth to gapearound a last gaspwhat comes next – –with or without you(January 13, 2017) -
Incremental
“Everyone wants to know where we leave our futures.”–Mathew Schnirmaneach day we slice off a bit moreas collateral to our dreamtomorrow al will turn towards usif we can only make it hometoday’s another day to todayno trauma no joy just todaythe winds are still the ocean calmno ship’s sail breaks the horizon(January 13, 2017) -
Dream Journal # 31: objects in motion and at rest
by
we (L. and I) arrived at a bend in the riverthe river rose swallowing the groundwe stood upon and we were trappedin the wash of a cold syllogisma lost friend- a physicist- lived nearbythe friend had two children nowthe physicist and her daughter spokeFrench (although they were Spanish)to one another as the baby sleptwe were admonished to keep quietthe door opened with a startled clatterYou walked in with one of your dogsyou touched my arm and said hellosome guy I did not know was with youbriefly before vanishing like friendshipWe all went outside and sat on the lawnnear the river L. swam up kissed methen swam away without saying anythingR. pontificated on the meaning of broad daylightyou sat down next to me laughing brightlyyour bare leg warm against my skinI was no longer able to move or speak(January 12, 2017) -
a pretence at autonomy
“listen, listen, listen,”he mouths beneath his breatha mantra for his life,a tattoo to his heart.so goes the pulse and pullof the day: listen to him,to her, to the patterndancing like mice beneathstraw stalks jutting stillfrom the thick black earth,the moon hovering lowlike cows in summer’s shade.listen through the nonsenseto the heart’s slow eviscerations.(January 9, 2017) -
meaning’s origin
a leaf on the wateris a leaf on the waterhe reaches through his reflectionfor a leaf at the bottomof a puddlewhat one valuesdetermines its worthin his notebookan old man finds a flowershe gave him years agothe past holds regretthe present’s perfecthe hears Dr. Williams sighlike rain water glazedacross his memorya last aspirated gasprose like a dove fallingdeath slips quicklyinto place alivethen not like thateach day the pattern persistsyet still we act surprisedlost in thoughtduring his long commutehe suddenly arrives homethe sun rises the sun setsnoticed or unnoticedhe bundles upas the temperature dropsa mockingbird sings nearby“You don’t know what you’re missing nowany little song that you know”–Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, The Song Remains the Same(January 6, 2017) -
winter’s bones
by
winter’s bonesMcKinney Falls, Texasin a static dancebare limbs writheecstatically betweendead leaves’ clatter*like a jilted loverthe trees’ gnarled fingersgrasp after grey sky*water grinds groovesthrough the rockbefore fallinginto the curved silencebeneath the trees*like disembodied legsof a prehistoric beastthe trees’ rootsclutch the shoreline—eternal childrendangling their toesin the water*as if in a glassdisplay case—beneath leaves floatingupon the water’s sheena skeleton of a deerrests as if runningon the river bed(January 5, 2017) -
no shattered violence beyond a domestic fissure
I find edges and openingslike crevices in tree trunksas places to hidebreaches to slip pastthe violence sitting calmlyin the open airas if fangs snarlinghungry for bloodwere common placebones cracking andsnapping beneathdomesticated jawslike plates droppedfrom slippery handsinto fragmentsfragments of meand you scatteredacross the floor(January 4, 2017) -
miracles must be believed to be
by
“to complete a portrait is to learn to like your likeness albeit miraculously….”–Anne Carsonoften these days I hold my facein my hands rubbing my hand downmy forehead and into my eyes as if Ididn’t my head would snap offmy neck or fragment into shardsso I struggle to keep my headstraight and held together tightlybetween my anxious fingerssimultaneously out of fearthat what I imagine andwhat I am will coincidetoward a point where I vanishyet continue as if I amwhat I have become to be(January 2, 2017) -
pluperfect
by
He sits beneath the tree,and conjugates his personality.Each syllabic shift and modalsavored like time:no more who he was,than who he is to be,a mark in a bookas a reckoned form.Yesterday, still ongoing beyondhis memory, struggles to leavea single clear lineas a gesture of farewell.As most, he too forgetswhich part of speech he’s become.(December 31, 2016) -
prayer, a fragment
part of a life other thanyour own other than alonepart of a life to atone(December 29, 2016)
