somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be—
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands

I am and will always be
if not blood and bones
at least echoing memories
an existence through not existing
and oh how fitting it is
that even in death we live

grinding gears lubed with tears, conks of fears
watching our lives in third person
cause one, I took the train
and second couldn't find his shoes so he never left the house
removed and removed
washing liquid down to feel something new
like maybe just a few more stabs of caffeine and my eyes will open
press the shutter release for just a few more shots
cause what the **** are we going to do
every step is emulsion on this best selling picture
throw the negatives in the drawers, junk
like if its not seen it doesn't mean nothing
like the junkies sinking into the street
waging wars with humanity and street signs
signs hanging when our streets change from alphabets
to bets with god for the latest meal
its a modern day last supper
like sup girl whispers through the table
drown the woes of dinner conversation in the chances to kiss her
because sense only reaches as far as our toes
walk with confidence, but our brains have lost it
what you see is what you get
put your best foot next, one in front of the other
trained at birth to fool our limbs
to contort to our latest whim
washed out like our denim washes
**** him

carved on walls
where fires burned
-indelibly etched-
the hunt and dance
our story

flint to moss
sparks ancient art-
tinder for desire

tendered flame
has seen us
***** unclothed-
an ivory venus
burned into my bones-

making fire

r ~ 9/3/14

I should leave here
but there's a hole needs burying

- a mountain of memories
and a thousand miles of pain -
it still smells like you
even after it rains

At the table by the window
where you used to read -
there's a whiskey bottle
that I'm trying to put away

There - is a hole that needs burying
one of these days.

r ~ 9/1/14

In the leaf there lies—
A bold anatomy, knowing,
Veined structure exploding
Like a star, pale flash ignites
Turning into burnished gold,
Starting as dear light, loosed
Spark, coming into blessed
Being, ever before even old
Gender, a little hand growing
Open, set free before stark,
Innocence, actual as truth,
As an offering to the sun.

I dreamed I was blind.
Blind, and uncomfortable
With darkness.

Fingers blistered from
Feeling if the light
Was on.

Listening for something
Between the other somethings
That combine

To create the chord Night
Strums with its claw
While singing

To itself about
Morning,
Eyesight
And other unpleasant
Illuminators.

two moons, but still
the night is dark-
wild dogs bark at a sky
that I don't understand

there's a tent revival
down by the river-
preacher duane says the light
from the reflection
will be good for the soul

I don't want to go, momma
I don't want to go

two moons are confusing
though the sound is soothing
as it shines through my radio

wild dogs are barking-
my head is swimming-
at the river they're gathering-
and the people are singing-
and the preacher is praying-
and the light is reflecting-

I don't want to go, momma
I don't want to go

I see two moons,
momma...

two moons.

r ~ 8/27/14