from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (23)
starlings turn a double-helix into themselves
their poetry drifts through dark clouds
–
I murmur my admiration
still stunned after years
of seeing them dance
like calligraphy through silent air
–
what’s written into our veins
century by century
flows darkly
in a continuous reel
beneath these stars
(February 2, 2020)
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (22)
once I was cynical
now I’m just defeatist
–
once I was sarcastic
now I’m just bitter
–
once I was happy
now I am just old
–
like the earth I decay
a slow spiral into the sun
(January 31, 2020)
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (21)
the moon hangs on the horizon
a waterdrop waits on a leaf
–
we are on an edge
–
like acrobats along a wire or
a knife at our voiceless throats
–
I don’t know where we fell away
(January 30, 2020)
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (20)
she remembers the future
he slips through the past
–
she watches patterns within
patterns unfold like ice
–
he reweaves strands
unravelling on the floor
–
the difference lies
in the holes between
(January 28, 2020)
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (19)
several years ago
for several years
nothing came to entrance me
–
more specifically
doors entranced me
the emptiness of doors
–
the simple lack of existence
led me further to rooms
and bowls cups and spoons
–
it wasn’t the rooms the doors
the bowls cups or spoons
but the pure embedded absence
–
nothing was useful
nothing was transcendent
the absence the lack the emptiness
(January 25, 2020)
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (18)
I’ve been here before
floating adrift frightened
the water is cold
–
a door opens
I walk through an emptiness
to arrive in another
–
I’ve been here before
this time the people are blue
and the music hasn’t started
–
a door opens
air rushes in
to fill the space
–
I don’t want to repeat
but no one is listening
and patterns are seductive
–
years later
the same song plays
I dance alone
–
I’ve been here before
a door opens
I step through
–
there is no dream
there is no metaphor
the wind is silent
(January 23, 2020)
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (17)
he alludes to a poem as if others
know what he thinks about before he can
speak which in this case means before he can
think his thoughts being like Rube Goldberg
devices clacking along tripping springs and
traps which propel the odd idea along
tangential routes until finally falling
into its assigned slot and everything
stops and silence expands like waves of water
rippling across the surface of a lake
eventually lapping the far shore
where a small boy plays with a wooden boat
never once thinking about poetry
(January 23, 2020)
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (16)
in fog
a hiss
scratches
the skin
(January 23, 2020)
“sadness of those unschooled in the bottles’ gloom”
–Rene Char, Poets
Tonight, I hold my shape
tenuously, like a rabbit,
tense, on the edge
of a field: hold tight
in silence, or flee
into the brush?
(January 22, 2020)
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (15)
from the upstairs window
the grey cat waits
and watches shadows
shift like dark flowers
dance in morning light
(January 21, 2020)
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (14)
forgetting the pattern of fear
and doubt tangled about me
I fall out of sleep and remember
what parts of myself I need
–
to continue some resemblance
of the day the inessential shades
my ghosts as darkly as the essential
each shifts its position evasively
–
when questioned like a cat
slips through shadow and grass
(January 21, 2020)
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (13)
in school we were always on the move
field trips to museums to math class
with Mr. Buesing to middle school
to high school to college the future
was a threat brandished like a whip
–
by degrees our world turned
then it stopped and I stumbled
and found myself here in the mud
like a body dropped from the door
of a passing car
(January 18, 2020)
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (12)
I drive an hour to work
each day then back
–
ten hours each week
too fast too far
–
crossing the river
fog hangs in the air
(January 17, 2020)
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (11)
she skitters part way
into the empty street
stops stutter steps
grasps the road
trying not to fall off
then leaps back
unsure what’s next
*
I rarely know
finding myself
now as if
it made sense
yet knowing I’m wrong
*
I turn
without reason
as a car
crushes past
(January 16, 2020)
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (10)
we fear
what we most
desire
(January 14, 2020)
