A butterfly dips
then lifts into a clear sky;
I am a barren field.
(November 7 2013)
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6: confluence
like lover’s arms wrapped around each other’s bodiespulling from the vast continental watershedsof eastern and western north americathe ohio and mississippi rivers come togetherthen flow next to each other for milesa clear demarcation between one and the otherbefore finally merging together into one long flowjust as we too come together with a single kiss(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 6, 2013) -
5: he’s thought all this through for you
with superfluous gracehe shows you the waywaving you downhis well-defined pathdon’t think too muchabout whether to goyour freedom to chooseis just part of his showloyalty lieslike so many thingsin the polished truncheonof his outstretched hand(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 5, 2013) -
4: Draw a Line
by
Just as you can only see your face’s reflection,Only you know what you know and do within.What aspect are you willing to show?What part of you will you riskTo save the part of you that’s you?Can you still find the line to protectThe border of what you call home?Or can you further sub-divide your soul,Until there’s nothing left of you at all?(from a work in progress: “Arcana” , November 5, 2013) -
3: Within Without
withoutthe wild wheatwaves undulantintuitive like windwhat reason existsif any existdivides outsidethe yes and yeswe’re wrappedwithin the procreantsurge of starsa waterfall’s rushand crash overthe edge of the worldto where we gatherto sing our songsafe in the armsof her enduring love(from a work in progress: “Arcana” , November 4, 2013
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what was in that terse hello
by
a young boy wantingto speak to you againto wrap you in his armsjoyously lifting you upor a puppy flouncingat your feet delightedin your return aftermonths and months awayinstead I stumble upon myselfembarrassed by my longingand fall into formalityto hide my heart’s desirewhy can’t I tell youyour meaning to me(November 5, 2013) -
2: See a Way Through Me
by
open another bookfollow the linesfinger the wordslift her veilsuch kisses liewithin the mindseductive turnsaway awaywhat’s leftdependsupon directiontwo roadsone wayyours and mine(work in progress, Arcana, November 4, 2013) -
1: The Magician Juggles Everything
by
within my handsI hold the worldmark thisthe horizon drawsa simple linelook herenot thereor therenot hereone hides(divides )one fromthe otherbeneaththe cupliesa swordreach for a coinbe hit with a clubkeep your eyeon the swirlcells splitthen splitagainuntilthe oneis lostwithinthe world(work in progress, “Arcana”, November 4, 2013) -
0: no account fool
by
the miniature dog yaps at his heelsruining an otherwise delightful strollthe sun is out the sky is bluethe trail provides a mountain vieweach step he takes brings him closerthe whereto and wherefrom do not matterthe dance itself creates his dayeach moment a circle along his wayhis story propels him toward the edgethe dog leaps and barks before the ledge(work in progress, November 4, 2013) -
Despite Everything a Butterfly Lands On Her Hand
by
plague doctors troll the streetssniff the air like troubled beastswhere we walk our way toward workdark creatures snarl and cursework crippled hands tie delicate knotswords fall from such simplistic plotswe speak in clichés to people we meetsmile shake hands mean nothing then leavethrough a dampening fog we creephand to hand then wait to feedthe constant urge to move somehowto drag past the corpses at our feetthe butterfly dances just out of reachthe dust rises through the gathering dark(November 3, 2013) -
(we are parallel)
Recombinantstreamrainstorieswordsparallel(from “primogenitive folly” August 2001-April 2003) -
(refraction)
by
I am cognizantbeneath what clothes i wearmy skin still gleams paleto my eyeit is the awarenessthe inability to lie comfortablyin the bed i’ve madethat troubles my dreamsthroughout the daythe mirror reflects the mirrorrefracting my imagedefraying the carefully tangled threadsexposing the base nothingthat is always there(from “primogenitive folly” August 2001-April 2003)
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(walled in)
how does knowl(edge)make a wallor sound ( ) speak?the mortar ( )the silence ( )?(from “primogenitive folly, August 2001-April 2003)
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St. Michael Stops to Get a Latte
every time I place down the penI fear the words will stopthey’ll stay hanging on the cuspof the blue silence left behindwithin the repetitionswithin your words againwithin the sharp foot fallswithin the dance’s turnthe words failthe world fails*the melancholy beaststrides through us allDid you see it?The line of the star?Did you hear the echo,I threw toward the air?*I am at a loss crumpledagainst a wall:I don’t know how to love youhow to fend off all my fearshow to provide a space for usthroughout our troubled day*What idea are you fighting against?Which of the demons of the earthare scrabbling at your feet?What level of illusion are you lost within?Which maw of hell has swallowed you?(November 1, 2013) -
(sentimental folly)
drowning in wavesof sentimentalityclichés clotlike blood in the brainour words confine(from “primogenitive folly” August 2001-April 2003)
