To entertain
means to be starkers
and dance with veils,
to exoticize war
and tremble in
a thousand rhythms.
Bejeweled as a spy,
nevertheless,
don't know why.
Eye of the day,
and a dozen matchlocks
had me inertly settle
upon my knees,
before bending at my waist
to take one last look
at the fiery heavens.

Like salted wet
And slipping through the grass
Between thighs spread
Parted clouds of white
And peeking sun
The shine
The welcome
And brilliant effects
On shining face

of the sea
Of rocking
of the moon
Dazzling the shell
its pink to pearl
By your bit of sand

From pooling stillness
tidal build will find its heights
It comes
Announced by a cry of God
And your name only
And it will smack down upon you

Flesh soakened
And seared
My stamp put on your neck
By ankle kisses
Below each cheek
Poseidon’s blush
A fever of rush
And sweet urge

The clover
Scent you cut
By each turn of phrase
And hidden glance towards me
By every revolution of your tongue
And nuance
Not so subtly imposed

It turns towards the sky and breathes freely
Shouts itself into the breeze
With the abandon
Of the dandelion
Where once she sheltered herself
By yellowed residue
On fumbling fingers

We had kept discord
In mason jars
Wrenched the spiral tightly  
With ape ****** dexterity  
And nodded politely as we placed them on the shelf  
  
The tippy toe effort  
To reach them again  
Enough to keep them dusty  
And in this kitchen  
With all the tasks to do  
Mindless chatter here  
A hungry man there  
  
They go unnoticed  
Until another is closed  
And placed beside its brother  
Swirling discontent and sloshing sound  
In the others  
No longer clear  
And the breaking down  
  
Today it is toast and jelly  
And alone with the sound  
Of crusty spread and scrape  
The bite warm and sweet  
  
I think I will clean house  
Toss the old and rotting into the bin  
With pleasing thump into bagged bottom  
And heave it out of my house  
The burden on my shoulder  
Easy  
  
When considering the great burden  
Of time wasted  
And jarred resentment fermenting  
My peace coldly interrupted  
By seemingly innocuous canned goods  
  
And it might just be that simple  
Or, it might not  
Either way  
I might just be ok  
(I’ll be just fine)  
  
I’ll write it all down in ***** metaphor  
To place the comfort of spiritual logic  
By bits and pieces within me  
Practice believing it  
Until it is a wholehearted effort  
And ability  
That mirrors faith  
  
(To be well within my soul)  
I am well within my soul  
I sing it like my grandfather  
During a Baptist revival by an Ozark river  
  
He seemed very happy  
Was a Godly man  
Salt of the Earth made by a God he knew well  
And my Grandma  
She kept plenty on her shelf  
She opened them for us  
(Peach preserves spread liberally)  
And everyone was happy there  
  
I do not remember being alone a day  
Even when I was
  
So this chore done
Spreads good news in my house
(Home)
I emphasize this word
Home
And believe it makes the difference
Enough to still my tummy
And lift my shrug
Apple my cheeks a while
  
I will fall to my knees  
Each time I feel whole
It has been a long while
And I am ever so grateful
So very blessed  
And I should be
Grateful  
For many many things
The greatest of these
Love
The following peace
The affirmation a comfort far beyond  
Anything I might place politely on a shelf

Un careful placed tongues    
Slipping knot poetry    
To be sure      
To swing      
And unable to hit      
      
Like a falling dream      
A dream where you fall    
Brace for it..    
But you wake in the middle      
The bottom      
It stays in the distance    
      
No bottom of it      
Of words      
Sliding out from under you      
Slipping from desperate grasp      
      
White knuckles curl the syllables      
The meaning of them      
Clenched in its palm      
Full of the map      
The born in tree      
      
Knowledge      
Intuitive like      
      
But wrapped tightly      
By the struggle      
By pride      
By counterintuitive impulse      
The likes of it      
Unholy      
      
(To most)    
    
Few would condone it      
Many would do it      
      
I often feel like saying it      
Often it enters my body like blasphemy      
      
And it rock shocks      
Grabs warm places      
Digs and I buck    
And then    
And then...  
      
I want to ****      
Like a kicking mule      
And a gone bad woman      
      
On the edge      
Sitting pink on the verge      
Of clamped tight      
Spasm      
And its lie awake at night      
........ rocket      
      
Rocket      
      
Rocket....  
  
Phew...  
      
I breathe heavy      
Like a time lapse photo      
Of an obscure      
Underwater creature      
Whose movements ****      
In reds      
And shocking      
Bright      
Neon blue      
      
Pulse    ....
..... ..  
      
And ads plenty      
To dark depths      
Of uncharted territories      
The Mariana Trench      
And ungodly bottomless holes      
Found right smack      
In the middle      
Of a desert      
      
Right smack in the middle      
Like a      
........rocket      
      
Shoot...

I have tired eyes  
For behind me sleeps the dying  
They would punish me  
If I’d let them
They are capable
And the withering of their bodies
The curling in their fingers
Are mine
  
Fringed hoods droop
Obscuring the future  

Wide  
It is vast and blank  
Not empty  
But alive in its gesso white  
Brilliant and blinking  
  
Blue highways  
Turned canvas to take me  
And be  
Just be  
Breathe ....  
What I exhale meets the next moment  
  
As cars scream by  
They go so fast  
And  
It has been my suffering  
Strapped to the backseat  
I see my reflection in the rear view  
I am reluctantly drawn to catch my eye  
Her hold  
Pulls me back  
Tightens the buckle  
  
The lane continued without me  
Before  
Would do it again  
I am not willing  
  
The brush dots the median
It is my stroke  
  
The next town  
And it’s roadside attraction  
In cages  
For a minutes wild regard  
Of pedestrian exotica  
Nature timid and tamed  
Turn tailed to the tide  
Of oppression  
Seething counter intuitive  
Self destruction  
He paces complacency  
And laps his pride  
Like milk  
  
What opportunity  
Ability lost  
And the man  
With rotting teeth  
Bent core  
Holds the whip  
His sneer bends its tail  
Striped yellow with black  
And camouflages great promise  
  
I will pass it by  
With heartache  
And simply refuse my curiosity  
To indulge it  
Would be my key in the lock  
  
I can only pray  
That the caged finds in him  
Power and revolt  
Enough to rock itself  
And bust the barn wood  
Twisted steel through the dusty old  
Porch of his keeper  
The man in filthy bibs  
Holding a leather whip  
And spitting terror  
And unholy demise  
Of what would be wild  
  
It is enough today that it is not me  
Tired eyes  
Staring out of bars  
And shameful need  
Shaking hands reaching through  
Clutching at things  
That are not mine  
  
Tomorrow I will wake again  
And be down this road further  
I hope to find my feet dusty  
Dirt roads can seem endless  
Mine sure as hell did  
But I would enjoy  
A long stretch ahead of me  
And in it’s scenic bends  
Sights of things  
That I love  
And familiar faces  
Grinning a willingness to be there

The days clouds creating shattering, shadowing furnaces,  
None of us could stand so close  
To your ceiling an ocean, eyes of a lid in glowing coal  
  
Tempering a fragile strange stare, an old awe,  
Glassware that was passed to us  
When we were young,  
Looking up so frail,  
They rise to their grave,  
Harbour in the sky  
In the bolt of an eye  
  
The godly sins where sunshine ends,  
The things you say with the fury you took in the fall  
Nameless gods put up your road block,  
Play your show and roar  
How could we kneel?  
How could we be smaller?  
When you recognize the fear in our eyes  
With an impulse to split us in two.  
  
Afternoon light is dimmed, heat  
Subdued,  
Clouds  
Lending the  
Whole, a soft  
Cloister, thunderous  
Reverberations  
Grumbling  
In the  
Atmospheric  
Periphery, just  
Strong  
Enough,  
To be felt  
  
It is cool here  
The sky is calling as well  
Pregnant with rain,  
Hovering mass potential  
Wicked winds  
Eminent  
But her currents wear  
Silent mouth  
  
It is still enough  
To just be in it,  
Sticky with its dark  
Sweat clings  
To show its worth  
Closing in  
On permanence  
  
Like time is its currency  
And it might come down  
In silver coin  
That it would be imprinted  
The face of Nero  
And not  
The stamp of God  
  
What God exists  
In silver or  
By face  
By name at all  
Nevertheless  
The rain  
Its burden approaching  
So that we do not fiddle  
Or burn it down  
  
The electric in the sky  
A great battle, this  
Its inner turmoil fights  
Corrupts  
And blankets the sky  
Purple,  
Neon flash of a gate keeper without sword  
  
And perhaps it takes a little madness,  
A delicious drop, a  
Perfect  
Accent ingredient,  
A willingness to  
Bear  
The transformative  
Embrace  
Of naked flame,  
To love forces that  
Threaten with glowering black  
Brow, lowered to an angle  
That can  
Only  
Conclude  
In collision  
And ruin, twisted  
Horns protruding above a  
Neck  
Thick  
With muscle, which promises  
Only  
To ultimately  
Overcome us  
And all we've wrought  
In cold iron,  
Threaded in tightly  
Woven  
Rivets,  
All  
We've erected,  
For our enduring names sake,  
Rent to idle tatters with  
Great  
Chaotic  
Strides,  
Nameless gods, unconcerned  
With our rites  
  
Gods that uproot our long  
Cherished  
Hopes, secretly  
Harbored, too  
Precious  
To be  
Uttered, for fear they'd  
Flash  
And  
Dissipate  
Upon contact  
With the air  
  
Gods with the flippant  
Grin of a street corner  
Illusionist, with a flourish of  
Fluid  
Movement and practiced  
Ease, unmake  
The earth,  
Beneath our feet  
And erase,  
Our hand me down names  
  
This is how it goes  
With myself and the Magician  
And the Observer  
Of natural law  
When things with subtle edge  
Like talk about the weather  
Like a description of three different skies  
Unite in the mind’s eye  
  
The reverb of heart  
Blends into one sight  
A universal speculation  
Of what might come down  
And the parts of it that matter