among the chilled drapes of frost
still clinging
damp gossamer on the fronds
a wren sang to the runnel
trickling to its riverine destiny
two ravens
shook the beaded snow from their shoulders
and coughed private soliloquies
that intertwined
and became dialogue
and melted away
in wild witchy laughter
that only a wry wren
could understand
Inspired at Big Basin State Park, CA, March 2001
Transcribed from memory, July . . . → Read More: Corvid Ego Super he go
In seven seconds
I felt the itch
burst into a wildfire
on my arm
making the roots of my hair blaze
like burning trees
frozen by light in a thunderstorm
and draw a fine aching line
through my left brachial vein
into the cold furrows of my heart
where it burnt everything
with satyric abandon
Thank you for the preview
I am grateful to know
I can’t wait seven years . . . → Read More: Meek Preview
Angels,
thou neutered are,
nursing scars
of some celestial war.
Fear not,
for with thee,
are my sincerest sympathies,
for thou art only
devils after vasectomies
I wrote this almost ten years ago in college, incensed by a Catholic padre who bored me to death about angels and the importance . . . → Read More: Angels, thou neutered are
Blue,
against the cold light
of tomorrowness,
I heard a dawn leaf drop,
Sinking static
through unfeeling currents of meaning;
a new idea flaked
off a thoughtscreen;
through the mirrored folds -
prismatic -
I glimpsed its jagged perspective
refine the clear airs of truth.
Beside the bed
the bucket;
Amid our expectorations into it
No one can tell
it awaits the fumble of a foot,
its metal clattering
as it careens into the . . . → Read More: dawn leaf
As he parts his hands
he beholds
Magdalene
breathing the plague
in measured draughts
a mortal
immobile
on a flower bed
rises to talk –
lame Lazarus
blinded for spite,
contrite Judas
aching for pardon,
Pilate anxious
to get his hands clean
he wants to scoop up their suffering
and rid them of their pain
but look at his hands –
each has holes
like . . . → Read More: calvary
Lolling in the grass
in the dead heat of day,
I find myself listening
to a scratching under the earth
(gravestones are cool
to a cheek warmed by sleep)…
From the dank grottos
a moth flutters…
the damp odour of humous is heady,
enriched by the bones of men
and alive with the worms
that have assimilated their flesh…
all is quiet in this sleepy shade
until
a deeper, paler . . . → Read More: Cemetery
i always find myself
dreaming
on my mindwalk,
lipreading braille
on a sunny winter’s day,
walking in circles by the light rail stop,
buying tickets to destinations
travelled in imagination –
far beyond the scope of possibility…
waiting for the mountain snow
to feed the river,
fidgeting with birdseed,
scraping away rainmould
to arrange a birthday surprise
for the blossoms of spring…
then the tree teeths with spring –
a new menarche . . . → Read More: vernal forecast
i have a song playing in my mind…
its leaves tremble in gentle thoughtbreeze…
now it’s a book, a tree, a billowing sail,
a storm-tossed scrap of memory,
a confetto in a hurricane —
travelling unmoderated,
into indefinite, incalculable warps,
unheedful of destination,
revelling in the journey alone…
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