Had I but lived a hundred years ago
I might have gone, as I have gone this year,
By Warmwell Cross on to a Cove I know,
And Time have placed his finger on me there:

“You see that man?”—I might have looked, and said,
“O yes: I see him. One that boat has brought
Which dropped down Channel round Saint Alban’s Head.
So commonplace a youth calls not my thought.”

“You see that man?”—”Why yes; I told you; yes:
Of an idling town-sort; thin; hair brown in hue;
And as the evening light scants less and less
He looks up at a star, as many do.”

“You see that man?”—”Nay, leave me!” then I plead,
“I have fifteen miles to vamp across the lea,
And it grows dark, and I am weary-kneed:
I have said the third time; yes, that man I see!”

“Good. That man goes to Rome—to death, despair;
And no one notes him now but you and I:
A hundred years, and the world will follow him there,
And bend with reverence where his ashes lie.”

You awoke before the rest
Their sighs and breaths
Disappeared in the dark morning

If only they would wake
And leave you unalone

when her ocean sounds
rang the pallid chandelier
i felt my blood cook
and disappear
the pool-house hummed
in the veil of night

i wanted to speak with her
beneath a canopy of lights
i miss her bathroom floor
(the meadow of clothing)
buried like carthage salt
and the hymns she half-sings
into thin air

Look another way
Toward dreams
My hair is a tangle of black eels
Curled up in flowers
Contained and blue-tattooed
My ******* bare.

My legs hidden
I kick like a mule
My fingernails are talons

You cannot contain me
In this small Spanish town
I am not contained
Anywhere
I spill out of blue
Pluck flowers from the graves of the dead
My mouth is not for kissing.

feel the teeth sink in,
rip word from bone,
crush heart and tear through skin.

put down the phone.

let the words sink in.
narrow down the voices in your head,
force yourself to feel alone.

don't let the pain show.

put pen to paper,
let your mind pour out,
from word to world.

inhale-
1 2 3 4

open the back door,
smell the dying plum blossoms.
take a few steps, or try to.

exhale-
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

gaze up at the sky.
do the clouds still look red?
no, but that one looks like a wishbone.

keep walking.

smile at the single dad,
he could use it, you know it.
plus his nirvana t-shirt is pretty rad.

keep smiling.

falling leaves make little ripples,
in the puddles in the road gully.
overcast days always make for the best reflections.

-
this shouldn't need to be routine.