the difference is meaning
an implicit intention
the wind through trees
a new widow’s sigh
(October 2011)
-
Ritual(s of my day)
“The judges of normality are present everywhere”-Michel FoucaultFastened to a hurdleDrawn by horse to the placeHanged (almost to the point of death)EmasculatedDisemboweledBeheadedAndChoppedIntoFourPiecesRemainsDisplayedIn prominent placesFor reasons of decencyWomen were burnt(found poem from a wikipedia article)(October 2011) -
Fingerprints
the creek tangles between the rootsof the trees clinging to the bankthe water bends back upon itselfswirling leaves into brackish eddieslike fingerprints upon the water’s surfacewe talk in passing of trivialitiesthe mundane functions of the daytroubles at work what the kids are doinguntil tangled in my silent obsessionsI bend ever deeper into solitudethe creek the trees the roots and weshape each other against the otherleaving wisps and traces to swirlabout in latent ambiguities(September-October 2011) -
Advice to Myself
by
attend to the daily walkdown the hall, the simpletalk from friend to friend, attendto the roses as they fallpetals scattered across the floor(September 2011) -
Explanatory Note
by
i find it somewhat difficultto speak, so stutter aboutand mutter over chatteras if it really matteredmy secrets unfold betweenthe mottled shadows pulsingon this wall like the wordswhispered beneath the noiseof all the voices I have heardso listen closely to my heartand trust that what I sayis true despite the layerswithin these lines which hidewhat I would speak to you(September 2011) -
Beat Down
He sputters out his despairLike bits of broken teethThe blood and bone of his lifePooling between his feetHe sits on the curbOf his possibilitiesRuns his tongue along his lipsThen spits for a newer luckSuch chances of changeAre trapped in routineHis daily ramblingsAlong a long familiar pathSo what should he do nowHold on or turn around(September 2011) -
Embroidery
She wove words upon usWebs spun between treesLet me tell youYour father was soJust wait, you’ll seeConstant talkConstant storiesTo teachInformWarnControlAt the endShe troubled threadsBits of broken netsTell me somethingWhere are the kidsWho was thatThen memory let go of timeHer uncle’s state hospitalBecame her hospiceHer age fell into fluxHer voice unraveledBe sweetI love youCome back(September 2011) -
Her Hands
Butterfly wings flutter
Through conversation
Alight briefly
A probiscus touch
Upon the pages
Of her book
The table
His shoulderDelicate fingers trace
Thoughts through air
Twist a strand of hair
A casual distraction
Like a butterfly
Daring him not to care(September 2011)
-
I Saw a Future at 3 AM
to edward hopper and neil youngAt twenty-three I saw himThrough two louvered windowsAn alley between usMaybe fifteen feet distanceI stood in the dark, invisibleLooking out my windowSipping coffee blanklyReady for workLisa still asleepIn the next roomIn his window
A closet light glowedBehind a thin old manSitting on the edgeOf his bed in boxersStaring at a wallAlone(September 2011) -
On Fashioning a Fetishistic Totem
by
An object
Any will do
Preferably
Parallel
To the person
Upon which
Your obsession
Is fixedBut purely
Disconnected
Except through
An association
Known only
To you
Will do
As wellThe projection
On your part
What you will
Upon the subject
becomes for you
The world
To widen
To welcomeBe wary
The words
You say
To yourself
Will be
The way
You believe
Despite yourselfSpeak softly
Succinctly
Each sound
Sends echoes
Locating
Both you
And your
desire(September 2011)
-
Reality Check
by
Where do we go from here?
An implied past purpose,
As if here arrived
On schedule
Riding in a pumpkin coach.A more pressing question
Presents itself in opposition
To these futuristic obsessions:How did we get here?
What circuitous route
Turned our wheel
To this position:
A yes, a no,
A drive to believe
In the righteousness of our response;Or tied to the rack
Our balance wanes
Into a renewed spin,
Until our lives rattle like a ball
Dancing from one allotted
Slot to another never quite
Coming to rest before being
Snatched up and tossed again.(September 2011)
-
The Long Heat
In the garden the cat pauses
to lick the dew from her paws.
In morning the day is still forgiven.Night’s chill lingers in the grass.
A dove dips water from St. Francis’ feet
before vanishing between hackberry leaves.Like hens protecting chicks from a hawk,
Oaks pull back their shadows;
the sun circles the empty sky.The cat ignores the mockingbird
chattering from a fence post.
Sunflowers umbrella her like saints.Later the air hides beneath hawthorne.
The basil bends its head to the ground.
Only a butterfly struggles across the yard.Rising from beneath the deck, the cat
stretches before slipping into the house.
The grass continues its crisp watch.By midnight the air breathes again;
the sidewalks glow like morning beds
still holding our shape’s warmth.(Breadloaf, Vermont Summer 1990)
