Christine Ueri: Favorites

Jan 2016 Christine Ueri

mike dm

then she looked at me, gazing
with a vigor that collected my scattered thoughtstream

and, fixing her stare, she said:

what if we tabled our demons?
Pulled up a chair for them? Got to know them, instead of
trying to vanquish their persistent presence?

and setting upon my worried head
sat something like
the quality of being wise; it inscribed

lithe formulation with a depth, true.
and i knew,

then

the types that once arched so high, so vaunted in blue,
were mere sets of symbols
induced with the incantation of a brow
steeped in trickery of the highest order.

Jan 2016 Christine Ueri

here, is a link

Jan 2016 Christine Ueri

mike dm

here, is a link

you are
more than your surroundings;
          surge of
columnar star c a i r n
threading through the age of rock and mineral,
one
bright
wave
of light hangs
in the balance.

it will
have its say.

epoch of concatenation: stair of
    elements spelled out long ago,
always
containing within it::
tiny trace of
the were.

it
     glints
in the tired eyes
of those few thoughtful people that are left
                     in, this, our wasteland, now birthing
                   arcane, again:

a new time comes;
feel it writhe forth origin.

dm micklow

Jan 2016 Christine Ueri

rote

Jan 2016 Christine Ueri

mike dm

rote

the words she uttered,
marked by a fine soot, scribed themselves
on the inside of my sore ribs;
with wrist and finger adroit,
it burned off the serifs
i had used to write myself down
as something utterly known.

i stood there, before her - before myself -
dross coating my feet, altered
by this strange medicine.
naked and sparse and
unknown, chiseled
before her strokes, i am.

it will
hold and
i will heal.

Jan 2016 Christine Ueri

Untitled

Jan 2016 Christine Ueri

mike dm

Untitled

i guess poetry can be used
to inspire optimism
and make people feel good,

but i'm looking for the kind of poetry that
eats the air
from my lungs and
sifts my holes
with a fistful of dead flowers.

Jan 2016 Christine Ueri

Things the dead leave

Jan 2016 Christine Ueri

r

Things the dead leave

Two fishing poles, a feather,
a leather jacket with holes
on both elbows, forty-four
dollars and change in
an envelope, some dope,
a pair of worn out cowboy boots,
a clay flute shaped like a bird
that can't whistle a tune worth a lick,
an unused bus ticket, a picture
of two kids laughing pretending
to fly; an eyelash in my eye.

In memory of a brother.