I have a strange dream
seen in oddest of nights -
the one where I'm bouncing
on an old grist stone
that is spinning awfully fast.
with every push of hands to get free,
gravity pulls me back down
and I'm erasing.
first fingers and toes -
we could live without those -
but then it's elbows and knees

I eventually give up all hope of escape
and actually enjoy the ride for a bit
but opening mouth to say "ahhhh,"
I'm flung loose by centrifugal force,
and in epiphany, realize that
teeth had been griping the axle.
I could have been freed so much sooner
if only I'd let go first.
of course, by then not much was left
a mere twenty five pounds of finely marbled roast,
head still attached, but quite useless

frankincense smoldered in censers
when priests dressed in lacy
white wedding gowns
patted me down with fresh linen and silk.
the head they hacked off and discarded,
the gray not much used
but useless as transplant
and salesman refused it on trade-in.
they anointed dead flesh
in scents of rare oils
and spices imported from India,
solemnly transporting the meat to a pit
built just in front of the altar.

Young boys wearing dresses
took turns at the spit
making mean faces,
but only when no one was looking,
their tobacco juice joining
my fat drips spattered on coals.
finally I was done cooking,
three hours of basting,
and arranged with bruised fruit
on a huge silver platter with handles
that my wife rented just for the occasion.
steam shimmered over din
of all my friends, who were seated,
and family, too, dressed for a luau
in bright floral prints and grass skirts.
After a short blessing, they dug in.

When feeding was done,
dripping chins wiped from curtains
hung loose from the ceiling,
all seated agreed
the meal had been tasty,
though meat a bit gristly and greasy,
especially slices cut close to the edges.
a fat policeman called them to order
and somehow I read from a speech
by chance I had prepared in advance,
like a letter or even a poem,
in which I contritely confessed
I'd always wished to have been more,
but meal finished, and dishes clearing
at least now I'd always be with them.

you had birds in your mouth and sunlight dripping from your eyelashes.
i promised i wouldn't speak if you wouldn't change faces twice an hour.
we made conversation under a tree and sleep-walked through your kitchen.
i couldn't stare for your poetry disguised as fingers, always moved your hands.

i opened your window and slid to the street, took a walk with the recycling.
my hands looked tired the next morning, and you wouldn't take no.
when the lights fell asleep, we ran for the boats and slipped into the water.
the moon smiled and pulled us apart, i never matched your shoes again.

1.1
The clock ticked two
The door closed and you knew

1.2
There goes a back turned
That'll never be turning back

1.3
Your silent reach forward
Stopping nothing , caged your feet frozen

2.1
Gifts left , broken , lost , not returned
Though giver proved unkind

2.2
You sobbed through hours of days
Looking for a mirror

2.3
To reignite the moonlight
For you to dance again around

3.1
Still , you walked
Letting creeks fill in your fallen hollow

3.2
Occasionally tipping towards evened out barricades
Yet always eagerly realigned

3.3
Once again letting out fumes of sighs
A freed marionette

Conscience, consuming.
My stomach has turned inside
and in on itself.

My eyes have rotted
and reduced to such lifeless,
stationary orbs.

Today is the day,
I ***** my weaknesses
to teach myself strength.

Worries for sale:
free delivery.
Happy to sell
to anyone.
Let's start the bidding,
at a sigh of relief...

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art—
    Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
    Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
    Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
    Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
    Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
    Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,--
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,--
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.

the leaden
wetness of an
October snowfall
cloaks branch
and bough
of woefully
laden
trees

the pressing
mass
a weighty
strain
prostrates
mighty
hardwoods
to autumns
cold ground

as a
truculent
Nor'Easter
claws its way
through
the uneasy
Mid-Atlantic
night,
the crash of
creaking
maples and
popping oaks
persistently
echo through
the black
woods of
this
trembling
evening

power flickers
perplexed grids
go down
extinguishing
the warmth of
suburban
house lights

the growing
aggregation
of crushing
pressure
on tensile
taxed
branches
snaps
the firmest
wood

an
incessant
barrage
of
thumps
and
dings
splatter
a­gainst
the
house

while the
shuddering
uncertainties
of frightened
children
rise
as each
limb
clatters
to
earth

our
cowering
bivouac
draws
the
inces­sant
fire
of a
harassing
fusillade
from
legions
of
invisible
snipers
as
swoopi­ng
gusts
threaten to
relieve more
arboreal
tension

praying
limbs
fail
to pierce
the safety
of thinly
tiled
roofs
our
abiding
hope
remains to
escape
the
next
random
blow
of fate

the
night of
falling trees
stirs our
sleepy
hamlet
from an
uneasy
midnight
slumber


10/29/11
Oakland
jbm

I fear the way you love me:
That tender-touching kiss
Seducing me to nightly
Sink deep in your abyss.

Those smooth caresses take me
To places that I dread,
Your cunning fingers rouse me
To plan such lies ahead.

But while we writhe and tumble
In lust's hypnotic hold,
I fear the final stumble
That will see the truth unfold.