like so many frogs
we croak our choruses
     of regret...

   in           and           out
          and        in       and        out
and          in       and          out   
           of                breath

still
our paper bags
these pent up lungs
are filled again with memories
that never quite escape
two cages
(x - ray prisons)
holding captive still
                    these hearts -

like so many yawns
what sweet relief
to now expel
such weary air:

            This, My Conscience:

Half awake
dragging my legs down the stairs
found my sweet kitchen
through several yawns
and sleepy thoughts
Here's the seductive "Bombay Bread"
and a pot of Vietnamese strong Coffee
serve on the attractive kitchen table..
Breakfast everyone!!!

Bon appetit!

She held me and
I held her.
Sometimes one of us would cry or
sometimes we'd fall asleep.
I'd mostly fall asleep to the
Sweet sound of her rhymic
Breath or
Her short but surely
sweet yawns.
I'm still wondering--
Am I the only friend that
she's let hold her
at night?

It just seems funny because
None of her other friends seem like the
Type who would do that
And I even asked one and they
looked at me like I was
crazy.

So, I guess my question is--
Why did she let me
hold her at night?
And why did she bother
To hold me back?
Is it just a special bond or
was it something more?

I guess I'm still hoping that
She mean't what she said when
she said she
Might feel the same
Way.

We can wait a lifetime
and never be certain

never taking that first step
that leads to a journey
of a thousand miles

arm’s length stands
just a step away…
Suspended with bated breath
at the  daunting crossroad’s  cusp

the sun yawns and vanishes,
stealing away the unused shine
abandoning its thrown shadows
yielding to the repose of night

aspect bemoans atrophy
the trepidation of failure
weighs heavy on the threshold,  
knowing all the while,
without stepping through,
life is just a step away…


Harlon Rivers

A dark cavern
Yawns wide
Cobwebbed
With corpses of storage
Of prehistoric age,
Went in long time
Put stay
Without again
Seeing light of day,
Untouched by squall
on the wall
In hibernation
An archive
Beyond retrieval,
A black square hole
Without a role
In my living room,
I’ll never take a ladder
to hold me aloft
and peep inside the loft
but let continue
its slumberous mystery
date prehistory

Dawn breaks, and with it
yawns wake the dreary
bodies of those who
accept the foggy boon of
Sunshine.
Through dusty windows
          or glossy eyes
Desire envelops reality until
Realization drops
in the mind as a clear
glass of water
slowly spills empty.
Worry moans as
Coherence opens
its eyes to scold
the brilliant invader.
Thought takes hold
and dreams are discarded.
Who sighs?
Lifting his head, asking the light
          Who am I?

Spitting out poetry
knitting out seams
seems to never make much sense
or much money.
It tastes like honey
It exists where
landlines turn into moles
landmines turn into souls.
Bowls of coal for breakfast,
flag half mast
cast in bronze on front lawns.
Yawns echo through classrooms.
What was I saying before?
I can't remember anymore.

He wanted a penis enlarger

gave him a magnifying glass

I said “where’s the food go”

he replied “look at your ass”

He likes to call me his experience

what he calls all his mistakes

I call him my grievance

my heart he constantly breaks

When he yawns he gets to open his mouth

otherwise he tends to keep stum when I’m about

he lives poor, so he can die rich

calls me an overspending bitch

Were no longer love’s young dream

when I see him I want to scream

I kill his ills with pills

his money pays his funeral bills

1.

the cabin stands in a clearing carved
from the forest by god’s right hand
out back the land slopes up up up
tree-snarled and tangled the mountain
forgets to brush its beard yawns
baring jagged stone teeth she can see the cracks
where the moss creeps in runs her fingers
along its wet velvet don’t be fooled
her father says it’ll bite you if it can
clad head to heel in buckskin
lined with fur their elkhound sheds
waste not want not her father says
she learned from an eggshell-tender age to
whet a knife against a stone build snares
shoot a rifle taste a storm brewing in
deer shit find her way back from the utmost
edge with nought but the glimmer of starlight
on the path back to the cabin her father built
from cedar logs and the sweat of his brow
to keep her safe and the wolves outside

2.

he goes out hunting when the meat runs low
bar the door after sundown and open
it for no one her mother lost in childbirth she
can’t blame him for the worry though her
body cramps in the shape of her cot
years of sleeping nose to navel
wrapped in a quilt her father stitched
she yearns some days for  a piece of sky
the trees aren’t clawing at
dear god in heaven I am going mad as birds
later she will read what she has written
unsure of why or when her journal holds no dates
time has always bled together this deep in the forest

3.

at night she hears them grey as ghosts
the  huff of breath panting eager paws
scuffing up her father’s path
sped on by some wicked wind
teeth made to tear flesh from bone
bare at the sight of the woodsman’s house
keen noses know the stink of death steel traps
tanned hides woodsmoke curling from the chimney
soft milky skin of the woodsman’s child who
has bolted fast the oaken door and will not
answer when they sing her name she must not
answer though they know her name come away
torchlight eyes burn at every window
hot breath fogs the glass come away dear one
she stops her ears sleeps and dreams
of deer’s blood welling in her mouth

Cue the curtain
sound the song
she takes the stage
unwavering, headstrong
all of her soul
on this unabashed floor
knows every step
each after and before
but the crowd is antsy
and the white noise is hovering
and the hand of the man working the spotlight
shakes unsteady as he
texts his girlfriend
the camera man yawns
and the little boy sitting next to me
tugs his moms sleeve
for a snack
the dancer on stage
prevails
this is her world
all she knows
is the arch in her back
as she
makes love to the floor
sweeps of ribbon and silk
caressing
the fold of her body
to the riff of the ballad
she is one
she is all
she is shining
her body tells a story
and I watch captivated
with bated breath
entwined in this love story of beauty and suffering
while the camera man yawns
and the guy working the spotlight
used this time
to text his girlfriend