by
The rough stones, I stack
in a circle around me,
slowly wear the skin from
my fingers until they bleed.
Nearby, but far enough,
you too build your circle
mixing traces of blood
into the wet mortar.
This is how we live:
each day we wait—
for a new excuse
to slowly bleed out,
then lay the last stone
of our sarcophagus.
(September 19, 2022)
to eviscerate
all that could have been
and all that there was
each day since birth’s cry
to worry the wound
probing the center
as a bee a rose
deeper then deeper
to pin the skin back
exposing the flesh
as if broken dreams
to prurient eyes
to recoil in fear
until a last breath
rises from dry lips
as a final kiss
(September8, 2022)
by
Each day that summer as I walked home from concentrated classes at the University (Early Modern Philosophy: Descartes, Kant, Hegel, Hume, Berkeley all in six weeks), I would wave to an old woman who sat on the porch of her disheveled house drinking coffee, I assumed. Each day for a couple of seconds, we would affirm each other’s existence in the other’s life. One day she called out to me, she wanted my help with something. I hesitated — for I had places to go, people to meet all afternoon. I was afraid she would take more time than I had to give. After I negotiated her neglected front lawn, she held out an old alarm clock, “It’s broken,” she said, “I don’t know what the time is anymore.” I took the clock from her crumpled hands, turned the key a few times, and it started to tick loudly. She thanked me, and I went on my way. The next day and the day after that for the rest of the summer, I never saw her again. Although, now and then, for the last forty years, I think of her, her clock, and the time she took that day.
(September 5, 2022)
by
Pattern’s traces, worn through
repetition, call from dance’s edge;
where shadows pulse like breath,
and flicker leaves against the sky.
I hear only the sharper echoes,
of the little dog at my heals,
whose yips and growls cut past
the surf’s surge far below, but not
the curved contours cloistered
closer to my heart. I am a fool
to trust so blindly in a god,
who allows me to languish
in faith’s certainty, as if
cowardice could protect me
from the final fragile shattering.
The bits and shards scattered
along the broken grounds are
difficult to winnow. I become lost
in a melodramatic reverie
where each memory excavates
a self-abnegation usually reserved
for saints confessing their silent sins.
(September 4, 2022)
“there the dance is”
—T.S.Eliot
to move from this mountain,
I am nothing;
to return to the temple,
still, nothing;
to remain—
nothing.
(August 26, 2022)
by
The roses you planted decades ago
still bloom despite their age.
A slight breeze dances the trees,
and I remember I must leave soon.
We rest our heads on each other
as rain clouds deepen our night.
(August 25, 2022)
by
For years within years,
I return like an animal.
The withered tree bare of leaves
blossoms again in Spring.
Each moment I have loved you,
for years within years.
(August 23, 2022)
Dew upon the grass,
the moon open to the sky,
for years we sing our song together.
Rain and tears flow through my heart
only to vanish in the river’s flow.
Outside the tree’s branches
reach into the dark night.
(August 23, 2022)
by
We drank beer, and
talked about music,
and art, and poetry,
and all the other
inconsequential
moments of life
which make us
more than we are
when on our own.
(August 15, 2022)
by
All the moans of pain,
all the sickness,
he should have left
lifetimes ago.
All these delays,
and distractions
have left him
alone in the world.
In all his wanders
his only regret:
he waited too long
to see her again.
(August 14, 2022)
by
Having returned a cow
with my horns clipped,
I chew my straw sardonically,
as my sad-brown eyes survey
the undulant fields.
The cow herd pats my neck,
looks across the open field,
and asks me, a mere cow,
with a casual disregard,
“What’s this?” then walks away.
I have no language to unlock
this moment from time now.
Each song ends with desire,
a flutter of a solitary bird
falling from a tree.
(August 10, 2022)
Despite how long I look, spring
rises from autumn’s ashes,
unseen for mockery’s edge:
a flower from bud to bloom.
(August 10, 2022)
by
I crawled to earth
gasping for air;
I am no more now
than who I once was.
I’ve maintained myself
in memory’s traces,
tucked between the hours
and the tired minutes.
Centuries passed slowly,
like summer afternoon
shadows thicken over
slovenly trimmed lawns.
(August 6, 2022)
by
to throw into the fire
the better part of you
your heart as sacrifice
to the life desired
secure in the arms
of your clarity
like a child held
tight against the night
secure no danger lurks
beyond the fire’s edge
where the shadows flicker
with insidious pleasure
(August 4, 2022)
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