THE UPSWING

being contented
and therefore
there is no millstone
to push around in the brain-grey
even life’s bad strokes prove useful
their hex weds lesson to reason.

an ironic orgy of nothing
as if luck did not exist
the upswing contains drops of Yin
a little poison for the system
blessings
their hex blesses endurance, immunity

strength is the name of the game
those grains pass the cinch in the hourglass
so slowly & fatally the descent brings education
is there enough left for to better steal [our] time?

COMING HOME

 

when you find some one dead
there is a nexus between your mind
thinking, knowing they are alive,
then realizing they are firmly deceased,
there could be no denying it.

that cross-over, that switch
is ferocious in its speed,
but heavier than block lead,
it is a bewilderment.

DON’T MUSE TOO MUCH

her dimples,
to kiss them,
pour wine in them
and drink,
lap from them,
a harmless dog,
yielding.

those sea eyes,
thumb to brush hair from them,
cradle the wide world gently,
her celestial conglomerate,
my shelter,
her safe
angelic cosmos.

scanning seas,
green-blue or neither,
some new shade
nature never thought
to create.

soul, struggle,
that musical ghost,
spring through chest,
carry her through time.

THE INTIMATE GHOST OF A DREAM

in the context of a sex dream
there was no sex
but notes, accents,
nuances of a closeness extinct
save for some pinning specter
under the comforter
with me.

lucky there’s no dream smell,
to intercept reason,
exsanguinate the strength
toiled & collected
bricked up to guard,
to forget,
to help
self-renew.

ARTIST’S MOON


the bone pearl

glowing no sheen

rabbit-ed with fossil-scapes

starring on Earth

 

vally-ed talcum

thirsty & surrounded

nothing

for infinities

 

faces shed lunatic

cast insane still

passing Sun shielded

in Gaia’s shadow

 

her waiting cold

forever breathless

shines for us.

AUTUMN

death throe of seasons.
Spring the birth,
Summer prime,
Winter destined demise.

cycle end begins come Fall,
so Autumnal resolution for mine:

to burden friends,
scourge myself
awaiting their reply,
shackle necks,
the lot of us,
while the leaf flurries die.

to inspire Joy,
and work each day,
and exist and re-sculpt and revise,
the only comfort besides the balm
of the Autumn breeze outside.