clamoring voices
twist and turn
around me
melodies strange
each utterance
a puzzle,
a din
unbearable

I watch them
laughter rises
like smoke from fire
merry-making
joy
in their faces

I stand
at the banks
of their flowing
mother tongue,
I cannot cross;
I feel the divide

the song
of my culture
the lyrics
I cannot sing
lost in
the sound
understanding
eludes me

traditions and dances
warmth
of their fire
a distant craving
too distant
I feel nothing
but bitterness

lights dimming
the weight of
shame
bears down
upon me;
I shall know
no release

A mouse broke its bones
on my neighbor's floor;
I was called in mercy,
as the angel of slaughter.
My heart was the water
in which it drowned.
Days later, the wound
closed when I met Circe:
my silverish lion's stony
fringe burned away in smolder.
I left her starry thigh,
her eyes like cask strength rye;
They live, we sleep - No,
we're awake, and the night is slow.

Curious things emerge
from this last cup of gin.
Maybe I've been too alone
with the rain and with drink
because strangers converge
into thumb-smudged skins
washing over smoothed stone
into the storm's glottal rink...
I'll stop there and stem
these mannequin thoughts
seeded by a dollar's solitude,
watered by a fallen hem
of night. Thunder's brought
a brand new mood...

Sun is hotter,
but moon is nearer.

Yellow-belted dress
in runny mirror?

Come naked night,
intent is clearer.

In the day air
you can hear her

bright beguiling verses;
after dark is dearer -

moon-mouthed poems
are sincerer.

The truculent sun
escapes cloud guard
& serves us day

over green bonnet trees
that birth false fruit
where wasps crawl.

Now the roads fill
with rioting flax,
rose rays, rude rain -

there's too much life -
the world's heart is burst,
blonde-broken sobs.