Boots belts button lapels
Satin slips on too cleanly
Is it 32 or size medium
Inches verses miles to go
in someone elses shoes.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 11:40 AM UTC
The reason for lockdown is muddy
Bricks stacked in a hole make a room
Of sorts
The roof is the sky in blue 8bit
Infinity framed to taunt a finite life;
Two lives -
A heartbeat and a tree
He cannot imagine the view from above
With his neck craned angular all day
The only way out is up
He gives his water to the tree
Leaves only drops for his prickly tongue
And when it rains he blesses the imprismed sky and drinks his fill
Green flag leaves unfurl
Climbing to search the sun
But he is brown as the muddy floor
Which cracks as the sun rises up with
Midday
Mayday, he says, remembering the boat in the Aegian - the radio spitting static
Maydaymaydaymayday
Surrounded by black water
The desert stretches on
Each wave a fist descending
Always a feast of inpotables.
Progress of the tree is measured in squints, patting the trunk, whispering lines of poetry - whole passages forgotten
How will I escape this labyrinth of suffering
Kiss the bark with prayers.
Isolation breeds desperate dreams
Teeth knocking around his head, falling to the floor
He buries them in the roots
Have one piece more
Grow tall, let me climb
The wind answers his words in the leaves
Yesssss yessssss
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
Wearing a gown that wouldn't cover my ***
And socks like starfish feet
I peered across the dim gloom of my
Robot bed to the nurse board, which read, Treatment Plan: To be Determined.
And in my post-pancreatic anesthetic glaze I thought it was a note meant for me.
Too true.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
"Only in border towns do people know the price of peace."
Because the border fences move overnight, barbed wire stockades grow legs and strut backwards under the moon. In the sun, entire houses have been devoured by Russia.
A woman, in Georgia, milks her cow, who is in Russia.
A man awakens in the morning, only to find the road to his fathers grave has been swallowed wholly.
That was six years ago and he still cries about it.
But he does not cry over the houses, the farm land, the livestock. He says, "We are not afraid. We sleep peace fully, knowing the difference between wood and flesh, a threat and a promise."
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 5:42 PM UTC
How long is history made
20,000 years or three hundred?
The dedham cracked, releasing as it calved the chip on its shoulder
A glacial erratic
A plutonic catastrophe
Or a geologic pilgrim
Which we call Plymouth Rock.
When we landed on the chip,
It broke once, twice, and its demolition continues as tourists whittle down the stone to its smallest of meanings
A sedimentary token of mistaken intention.
I wonder how long we shall be here.
I think the truth is found in the dwindling stone.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC
Sing
I plead with you not to speak except to break the air and sing
Bring forth the heart that is listening
Dutiful to your passion, fulfilled, holding aloft that which can never be still;
The jagged heartbreak, the quavering schill calling plaintively, "Are you coming for me?"
...
"Are you coming back for me?"
And you reject the old bylines, criticisms, cataclysms of popular opinion
Noise buzzing within you turns to vibration
And you know
I have always been here
X
X
X
X
X
Grasp that which they say cannot be held
And continue as if no one is watching
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
The sky over Canal
Cuts my eyes: a blue blade
(Larger than I've yet seen)
Hanging over my head like
The sword of Damocles.
Tooth and nail - cuticles
Like my mothers' fingers shred
Another signal confirming
Now is the time to grab the blade
To fight.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
I cannot justify
Nor can I dismiss
My own participation
Within a stolen kiss;
But in violence I bleed tears
And in love I cry red,
The difference being my response
And his indifference.
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 1:14 AM UTC
hell intersects at carondelet and bourbon sweatsheened street speakers lambast lucifers gates where grimy undercover angels lean to sleep and slumberpray the word of god sweeps through the concrete beat only humidity speaks while the spirit sings praise praise praise
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
Where once we had school
-a tall building, the gathering of books, thoughts-
Now a hollowing out. The stale wind blows through barbed
wire, remnants of horror, intended to remain
To remember
This hollowed out place
A school becomes a building
A building becomes chambers
Chambers become cells -
all paths lead to the Hill of Poisonous Trees,
where many red rings hang; symbols to replace horror
with Remembrance.
A school becomes a building
A memory becomes a memorial;
But the trees grow despite the poisoned hills.
One day I hope they outgrow this place;
and yet I want Strychnine Hill to stay -
If it is the only way to remember,
To memorialize the school that was raized.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC