colin-carpenterWhisper

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Wild OrchidsYour colors diffuse in hushed streaks / across synapses, / as empty spaces also become orchids
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The BenchLet’s divide the sky, you and I, / With Wilco tapping our gut, our eyes, / Supplanting the clouds from our grape cigars;
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Mattocks ParkWe strolled to a halt in our own space. / We seven, spanned the open pre-dawn park / Prepared in dew.
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The Library is ClosedI have never walked this path alone / at this time of night. Midnight. / Exactly how it should be.
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To Plant a SeedThrough the trials our tongues are tied / to trying times; so many unsaid lines / underneath the rising tides, so many unsaid lies.
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Us and InWe pass this age, in pipes, / pass hazed bathrooms / on river outlooks, fleshy and brown.
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An ObservationDo you see that...over there...? / Milk legs holding hands, pigeon toed *** / taboo *** and constructioners pounding spikes.
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Twenty Minutes to TuesdayWe stand with a city / on our separate porches celebrating / neon-lighted rituals and candles.
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The Cul-de-Sac at the End of My RoadFollow this poem as it escapes my lips, smoke from a swisher. Follow before it disappears, slithers away into thin silky threads. Follow the mass, the transparent cloud. It’ll take you somewhere far from here, far from what you deemed necessary long ago, the pointless **** that drives your wandering mind, the pit opening up again within and underneath and above you, crushing you, making you less of what you are, less of your baser self. Follow this poem as it coincides with the wings of bats beating above your shallow head. Follow their darkness as they hide in barn nooks. Let them graze the tips of your dried draught grass hair, carry you away, and dissipate with the smoke.
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Flower of Life IIThe center bleeds down damp and up it dries. / But we enclose the bulb with petals / and the stem becomes as red as purple.
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