thought scraps
ripped and snipped
I’m a collage
of others’ words
a decoupage
like old skin
a sarcophagus
carved from stone
a scarab’s
carapace
cracking
into sand
(November 21, 2015)
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Frames
a squirrel waits outsidemy window his head bobsto the left to the rightto a rhythm buried deepin the tumultuous skyPippin our cat purrsas if one can wait tenseand unaware of everythingexcept the trees wavingnonchalantly in the breezethree magi wait togetherone oblivious to twoone desires the otherone writes it all downto frame a world(November 18, 2015) -
attend
between distractionlife’s ooze and pulsepersistsubiquitousattendin silenceto silencetoo(November 16, 2015) -
palette
the sweetthe marrow’s fatis not inthe broken bonebut the citrus piththe bitter spitinscribedin the rindafter the tartfruit is eatenthe savoras in the slowviolin bow’sslide alonga note’s turntwists betweentongue and toothas words slursyllableinto sense(November 16, 2015) -
weary
by
Time bleeds memoryinto refracted poolsmaking us smallerwith each iteration.My attention frays.Distraction wearslike river stonepounding shirt cuffsand hems, or whetstoneshoning a knife’s edgeclean before slippingthrough pliant skin.I find small solacein what is left to do.(November 13, 2015) -
cliff’s edge
by
hold this nowfor there is onlybut the momentarms outspreadas if in sacrificeI hang abstractmy life’s skin unfurlsa fire’s last wisplike song into airthe driven urgeto escape to runtoward then or whenalways on the vergeof a fall(November 11, 2015) -
story
Story
Few have time for the storiesof the old, too much exposition,too many tangential tales,too much context to includebefore a life can unfold.The tendency’s to explain it all:to become lost in the slights,to recall the narrative so allcan believe the way it happenedto have happened is the way you believe.I know I know I-know-nothing-matters matters to me, I know.I know the darkness is the darkness,not a badge to pin to a green sash,not a medal to intrigue a crow;but I can’t accept the beliefI must believe in my deathto believe I will be happy, not now,but later, when I no longer matter.Yet this is the story I’m told.This is the story I too often tell:what I say matters if only to me.I’ve listened to my blather for years,traced each line like veins in my armin search of the next dull pulse,as if some message is telegraphedslightly ahead of my next word,my next breath, warning my nextmanifestation at the momentall my stories have bled out.(November 7, 2015) -
as if I knew
wisdom cannot comefrom withoutslippedinto a pocketlike raina reservoir to swallowall sadnessall fearstrite perhapsbut wisdom’s withinstripped from distractiona crisp visionto breeda cleaner line(November 7, 2015) -
I am Lost
by
A moment unfoldsits petals to the ground.Crisp brown edgesa faded red:always somewhere,never here,tightly curledupon the floor.(November 7, 2015) -
Road Kill
In the season of squirrel suicide,the leaves are a different color green;the air takes on a cleaner taintwith just a smoky tinge of fear.Jim says they are without volition,responding to deep genetic desires;yet, amid their hesitant stutter stepsthey stop, and stare holding my eyeas if to say to us all: yes, it is time.If they truly are without reason,why then do they reverse themselves,and seem to fling their soft bodieswith such spastic martyrdominto my way and its destruction?(Revised/reclaimed from memory, 1982/2015) -
love’s pervasive light
The 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) -
Yet Again
by
I fall into silence.Words I desiredto speak troublemy thoughts as muchas those once said;I can only speak nowwhen you are not near:to laugh, or pity, orknow I was sincere.I have become a ghostto you, a figured markfrom which I gaugemy slow resilienciesto the quandaries of love.(October 26, 2015) -
there
by
a position withouttranscendencewithout departurea solidityon which to standlike stepping stonesin a rivertherebut an eggshellas our skyawaits anotheranother wayunder a truthinto anothertherewelcomes beliefthen feedsuntil no otherturns back to airlike an exhalationinto silence(October 24, 2015) -
a hunger feeds upon the dead
this is what I’ve becomea remnanta scrap of fleshvomited to the grassdark clouds swirlabove a dry earththere was onlythen notideals constrainedin ambitionor lustbecame decorationsalong a ropeused to tie my heartto a dead treebroken in wind’s indifference(October 23, 2015)
subtext 