tension slips between
skin and flesh
as skillful as a fishmonger’s
blade slices down
the length of an eel
with one stroke
a practiced motion
without thought
like a priest at prayer
each wooden bead rolled
over fingertips in sync
with the slow muttered vowels
one patterned moment
moving toward the next
with endless patience
as the next ritual waits
for the candle to be lit
the words to flow
less with meaning
than as a balm
to still disquiet
(April 14, 2021)
each evening
the day’s tasks
settle around you
like dust
in an abandoned house
the fire is low
the room dark
you are worn
a ragged coat
hung upon a chair
tomorrow will differ
only in its minutia
what you will have
for dinner and what
words you will say
(April 11, 2021)
within a multitude of soft tongues
a flame whispers accusations
around the kindling at your feet
and with a puff from her lips
it flourishes like angelic trumpets
curling toward a blackening sky
then soon enough
the fire fades
to a boredom
akin to sadness
it’s not there
in its absence
as sadness pervades
each need
with lackadaisical ease
(April 5, 2021)
with a thousand toes to step upon
scattered across the ballroom floor
he negotiates with a nonchalance
reserved for sinister seductions
each phrase she said like a rabbit
testing the air for the slightest sound
to announce the wolf’s ragged debut
yet the wolf is off in some other forest
tracking that red-caped girl and
the wind carries sounds
from some other tale as
everything we once knew
crumbles into sullen ash
(April 2, 2021)
at night a window becomes a mirror
where I see through my face
floating upon the glass like ghosts
outside the trees glow in moonlight
I open another door and walk out
across the grass mixing my shadow
with the night’s mottled shadows
as if dark lace woven into the earth
I turn back to watch what I’ve left behind
the figures in the house move silently
from room to room like actors
rehearsing how they will say what they say
(April 1, 2021)
Through the chase tree’s arms,
The full moon rises again;
I am here as well
the rose belies death’s presence
its slow decay into transcendence
like words we almost knew
but failed to say somehow
only to be troubled for years
rehashing conversations
as if our world would change
if we could only stay on script
hearing each cue clearly without
improvisation to distract
from the offerings of love
burning upon a broken stone
as if some deity would take pity
on creatures who could create
no better god than themselves
(March 25, 2021)
indecisive and insecure
I am on an edge
no cliff nor rooftop
from which to leap
more marginal
more like myself
a collection of questions
laced down a ragged page
I take a moment
to pull myself close
to gather myself
into a tighter pile
of misunderstandings
to tie myself to a series
of questionable knots
strung across the night
with a sense of frivolity
like lights at a garden party
or a noose in a lonesome room
swinging beneath a bare bulb
(March 25, 2021)
Will another glass
Make my life a better world?
The moon is half-full.
(March 23, 2021)
“a border is never neutral”
—Jaques Derrida
on a map it is a line drawn
in color across the landscape
it’s arbitrary except for words
which no longer make sense
when placed abstractly on trees
and through creek beds
no one sees them except
the ones who kill ones
who speak their vowels
elongated or shortened
(March 11, 2021)
