I often think of the swimming body,
arms unfurling the rough afternoon lake
into smooth planks while stretching
through the catch,
carving mosaic reflections into
shapes reflecting glimpses of the sun
before strewn onto the surface like
broken pearl necklaces.
It was in this practice I learned patience,
in the process of the crossing
and perfection of glide,
the conclave with the lake and flow of
language between body and water
the dialogue of the skimming, rotating torso,
forehead below surface line, chin down
consummation of movement.
The body suspended
above the muddy bottom,
stretching through the round shoulder,
the square shape of the hand
with fingers slightly apart coiffing
currents,
surging naked anatomy forward.
In Autumn, the buoy clangs louder
conversing through fog
of the changing season
to lake swimmers, row on row,
blinded at their bow
reminding them of the turn,
the edge of the precipice
before cavernous depths
pilfer reason,
those masters of rhythm
turn attention to stroke of arms
away from blackness beyond sight,
where creatures dwell.
Pivoting parallel to the lakefront,
elongated through the feet,
into the legs, along the chest,
barren ******* cutting waters
connecting one shore to the next,
before absolute zero of winter sets in
the vein splitting East-West coursing
between inlets, skirting islands
and birch skinned canoes
dancing atop foamy plumes,
It was in this practice I learned patience,
when all thoughts are flex of body,
the slight curve of torso
and abdominal reach toward shore unseen
through glistening sheets of
morning’s mosaic surface
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
The sky descends into horizon
This eve souls pass through the
membrane of ticking time
thin as a needle
kneeded through
ancient quilt sewn by
Archimedes
Plato
Blake
Oratio
Isis
those colossi greasing universe’s eternal
clock, to that recital played
unseen beyond vision
impalpable to senses
not yet sharpened by ascendance
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
I open my lungs to the moist dirt between
sidewalk cracks.
Atoms severed from the whole transcend
previous existence, take flight and enter my
body evaporating through tunnels, sinus
storm-drains built beneath my bones.
Particles intertwine themselves around
rooted hair shafts, excite neurons
electrical synapses, the sinew of sense
and memory ingraining fleshy shores of
my brain with cartography not yet understood.
So I too one day amputate this existence, navigate
to the peel covering concrete entombed earth
becoming dust, mud levees holding back waters
swollen by the pull of moon, slow earth thrown
to the casket. The comital of broken deadfall
in winter buried in un-named forests turned
black earth, turned home to black shelled
scarabs, turned nest.
Let the earth do this turning lament for me
let me be food for hungry worm mouths
the secret held between the hands of mice
warm within their family den, to the beak of young
howls turned night hunters, let me feed their
wingspan, nourishing fascia, the miracle
consensus between hard muscle fiber and
soft feather wherein miracle of flight is born.
Let the earth kneed me into nucleus seed
from where its hands are born,
forms sinuses from hollowed trunks and
lines its bones with me
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC
I often think of the swimming body,
arms unfurling the rough afternoon lake
into smooth planks while stretching
through the catch,
carving mosaic reflections into
shapes reflecting glimpses of the sun
before strewn onto the surface like
broken pearl necklaces.
It was in this practice I learned patience,
in the process of the crossing
and perfection of glide,
the conclave with the lake and flow of
language between body and water
the dialogue of the skimming, rotating torso,
forehead below surface line, chin down
consummation of movement.
The body suspended
above the muddy bottom,
stretching through the round shoulder,
the square shape of the hand
with fingers slightly apart coiffing
currents,
surging naked anatomy forward.
In Autumn, the buoy clangs louder
conversing through fog
of the changing season
to lake swimmers, row on row,
blinded at their bow
reminding them of the turn,
the edge of the precipice
before cavernous depths
pilfer reason,
those masters of rhythm
turn attention to stroke of arms
away from blackness beyond sight,
where creatures dwell.
Pivoting parallel to the lakefront,
elongated through the feet,
into the legs, along the chest,
barren ******* cutting waters
connecting one shore to the next,
before absolute zero of winter sets in
the vein splitting East-West coursing
between inlets, skirting islands
and birch skinned canoes
dancing atop foamy plumes,
It was in this practice I learned patience,
when all thoughts are flex of body,
the slight curve of torso
and abdominal reach toward shore unseen
through glistening sheets of
morning’s mosaic surface
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
Sharpen the knife by whetstone,
walk to the shore, hold the blade
perpendicular to the fat belly
blanketed with tiny mirrors glinting
sun into your eyes
Find the bridge decorated in promise locks
cast a net,
prime your tongue
squeeze air from your lungs into
gurgling words decorating her ears,
be impossible
be the everything
lock yourself inside as a habit
as the indispensable limb
Scrape scales with the cutting edge,
send them flying in the air
landing like lily-pads
breaking the surface of salt-water
Touch your roughest hand to the softest
palette of the face with knuckles
first tenderly like a mother
and then violate in flight,
land harshly
crush the rosy palette into a
cacophony of betrayal on the
cheek, corrupt the soft curve of the lip
decorate the chest in crimson,
cut out trust from deep inside her
womb
Bathe the memory in a white tub
kissed by carmine, let it flow down the
hypnotizing hurricane drain
through hair-matted pipes.
His after-shave knuckle tenderness
will perfume the steam,
permeate your memories
make home deep inside capillaries
Wash the fish in the Atlantic – let it
kiss its forehead, puncture the gut
with the ****** end, pull back,
let crimson blood and iron
perfume spill in globules onto emptying
tides washing out to sea
Dawn crab will come to the shallows,
eat the scraps with their pincers.
In the morning gulls recognize backs
hunched over by the water, swoop down
Pull out the curved hook from your cheek
dragging you in matrimony
drop the shredded robe of sinew and worth,
leave the tatters on the bathroom floor
Go to her in the evening
sew the pretty back together into a quilt,
stain it with ****** knuckles and
kiss her goodnight into resentment
Others will come into your life,
one will recognize the perpetual
circling in the epicentre,
swing prayers into your centrifuge of
consequence and
pull out the spears from
your chest, mend broken hopes
straighten the shattered
bones into a home indispensable to him
and show you simply, Love
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 9:37 AM UTC