she penciled him in
as a possible sin
a dalliance
a lark in the dark
some scheduled pretense
easily entranced
with laughter and hints
(September 20, 2016)
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initiate
by
if I lay a ropein a circleabout my feetlonging to be hungupside down above the groundwill youpat me on the headand trip the trapthen as the bloodpools to my tongueand I inexorably swirlin sync with the worldwill youdance your patternsout in secretswhispered only to me(September 17, 2016) -
Dancing With the Moon: a haiku cycle
by
Love’s Pervasive LightThe full moon in Arleshung above Austin as well.We all live one life.He watches the moon;she hears a whisper, and looks up!Months of silence pass.She watches the moon;alone, he sees it too—light dawns to the whole.They watch the full moon,lost in their separate lives:love’s pervasive light.Like you, I exist alone:O, Moon! Reflection of love.(October 28, 2015)November Moon Haikua frost moon rises:winter’s still a month away;my bones ache with cold.(November 26, 2015)DissonanceFull Cold Moon tonight—high today seventy-eight:my life in this world.(December 24, 2015)Old Moonthin clouds streak the skylike wolves’ articulate howlsthe moon does not care(January 26, 2016)hunger moonwolves moan in the woodsice crusts across old snowdesire still lingers(February 22, 2016)Lenten Moonworms rise from the deadearth after winter’s slow thawcrow bathes in moonlight(March 22, 2016)Egg Moonthe procreant surgedances with the moon’s shadowbeneath the new grass(April 22, 2016)Mother Moonnight flowers sucklethe milk moon’s reflected lightwe are the other(May 21, 2016)Four Haiku and a Tanka for a Hot MoonFull moon at solstice,an intersection of time,which already fades.*Wine and moon drunk,who am I to question this?a rose is a rose.*Buttermilk clouds drapethe solstice moon in thin shrouds:What am I to this?*We think we can know.Language lulls us into sleep,as if the moon cares.*Never a still point,the moon dances the solstice.Yet another space:Doors open to us again,for time signifies nothing.(June 20, 2016)Four Haiku for a Buck MoonWe come to ourselves;patterns repeat as patterns—You, me, each our own.*And then we grow up—Almost as if we planned it:earth’s procreant urge.*I’m too drunk to thinkbeyond the now of this page—Who am I to doubt?*I desire you still,to hear your voice in laughter—to begin again.(July 18, 2016)Four Haiku for a Lost MoonIt has rained for days,rare for a Texas August:the moon lost in clouds.I too have been lost—low clouds blur the sky with rain;no sultry red moon.To what do I rise?The lake black in warm moonlight?Another year’s gone.With patience one waits;green corn rustles through the field.The moon ripens too.(August 21, 2016)Harvest Moon: Circles and SpiralsA pervasive lightslips along our shadowed world.We are each other.(September 16, 2016) -
Harvest Moon: Circles and Spirals
A pervasive lightslips along our shadowed world.We are each other.(September 16, 2016) -
Direction
Follow the shift,the flow forwardthe slow leak towarda permeable rift.Where do you think?You are there onlywithin the pattern,the fractal, the grid.A world map distortsspread out flatalong a groundwithout a ground.Then, there you are,again, lost in thought.(September 15, 2016) -
day’s graces
the day’s commute fadesembers pulse in the gratework’s skin sloughs awaylike soft ash in the airthe moon wanes the sun setsa drum taps its rhythmsa side step to a back stephand on hip and turnwe weave within themtrying to sing their songas a river through a forestor a mist between the treesour arms outstretch and longto encompass it all(September 12, 2016) -
with graces
“loss”with a blurred vision,he had no true perceptionbeyond desirefor her to speakin dazzled laughter.“search”here. not there, but thento follow tracesthrough field and hedge—most suredly a gamewith such high laughter.“reunion”her eyes envelop himfrom across the room,pull him close as before,blurring tearswith laughter.(September 12, 2016) -
No Escaping the Words
by
I cannot forget what I will not say;the words clot along my dry arteries.The dust is difficult to breathe. I gaspafter what I want to be true, as ifthrough force of will I can change my life.In swaths large enough to hide within, Ierase chunks of my stories. I forget,or rather gloss over, all that I mustin order not to cringe in constant shame.It is not that what I have done is wrong,but when I am presented with a choice,I take the coward’s way, the easy way,and acquiesce with subservient smiles,knowing all the while that I am a lie.(September 8, 2016) -
silence stills nothing
“when all this driftwood on the heart’s sluggishcoiling currentpiles up.”–Tomas Transtormerlate night early morninglonging for sleepwaking from sleepthe room dark with thoughtthe slow swirldrags the detritus alongand I think of you againwith shuffled stepdown a darkened hallI wander room to roomrattling knobs opening doorswithout reason one believesthis is a metaphormistaken as a clichéas too often as now it iseasier to say nothingto allow the moment’s farceto force its ripe secretspast the slow creek’s shoreto what end but to find a way(September 10, 2016) -
Rituals
by
The moon hangs like iceupon the crocus blossoms;the young lovers part.The baker lights the oven,turning to shape the day’s bread.(September 9, 2016) -
a conjured space
What has he done?What has she done?What has been saidto raise the dead?The ground shifts,nowhere to stand;some lines written,slack and unspoken,turn tight circleslike an old dogaround his mat:a shuffled step,some common words,despite his wishan absent kiss.(September 8, 2016) -
break up
by
He was a glass doll.Yet another figurinecollected upon her shelf.Too late understanding,he slipped throughher studied nonchalance.In slow motion,he shatteredinto cocktail ice:bits of himself scattered,a fingerless hand,a broken face.He thought she knew,but was mistaken.(September 6, 2016) -
Within Simple Desires
“hope and sex and dreamsAre still surviving on the streetLook at me, I’m in tatters!”–Richards and JaggerI returned before your words, in the silent spacesspoken between us, let loose like butterflieslifting as one from a rosemary bushto dizzy the air with their dance’s delight.I focused on our conversation’s minutia,worried each splintered half-word reaction;as if our pasts could be rebuilt from wisps,or salvage a dry hope into an exotic other.Not quite falling, nor quite balanced,I stumbled, passing my world’s horizonin the parabola of a songbird’s flight;until shattered, like tufts of frozen feathers,across the shifting floor, my day’smosaic failed to form a coherent webto cocoon my trouble thoughts away.(September 5, 2016) -
no answer is also an answer
yes is the defaultyes is the hammerto the frozen noslivers of iceembed like knivesin the virgin snowno yes let meguess to answeris to acquiesceas if tic-tac-toe’sfutile x’s and o’sline-up in a rowthe cat smiles smuglybored as its essence(September 2, 2016) -
Ars Poetica
I write about whatI think about; and for years,I’ve thought about you.(September 2, 2016)
