...and there’s no one there to hear it, does it make a sound? _______
My poetry performed— before a crowd of johnny-jump-ups Their faces toward me in unison— they listen Intense, motionless energy Velvet applause of purple and Yellow yelling!
Encore of performing in the perfume with a troop of lilacs They will remember me While I— await their return to May through billowing miles of drowsing sachet breathing euphorias between the lingerie of clouds
What happens after ecstasy?
Grieving in life’s presence? Loss of mind to self-possession? ____
...and when my sense of smell gives out I will hold on for a while to the walker of hearing trying not to stumble past the song of thrush beyond me in the blurring leaves once so clearly— crinkled, shiny, and infant green…. ___
As a child I held on to nothing for dear life I could cup a storm in my hands! Could run with the rhythm of a horse! I could fly in my mind’s eye if the ferns I used were only wings! If I pretended hard enough I could eat my own home-baked mud pies!
If only I could be—
more than a fledgling of eight so earthbound, clumsy ___
But while the lilacs were out of town thunder met the flash and gutted summer!
I ran for dear life! from the amazing distance of its echoes pelted by its gentle gift Snagged by growing things— the clinging prattle of their momentous tendrils.... ____
Lovers run off the path past water lilies along the swollen veins to the river toward a grave and pounding heart
The Ancient Flood was jealous....
Now when the wind softens and rain is tossed last, and only from the leaves may their encore be cupped in the hands of some passer-by Remembering— that either because of a trifling wind or the weight of time...
a tree fell here clubbing the river’s bank senseless
Of course it makes a sound. I will always believe this. Why I still write. I'm so thankful for HP.
In this dance I don't care If you think you lead or follow. Like your simultaneous presences in my Head Bed & Heart, My two feet encounter both Split between realms My arms embrace their own weight in various currencies
It's tallied in my brain How each piece of clothing peels, falls, or floats away Dexterously And how the floor does not discriminate From your cream adorned with curls And your café con leche
But I never hear the fall Like leaves shedding in an anti-gravity zone Preventing finality Just so we can slip back into our skins effortlessly With four eyes shielded, Blindly clutching creeds through winter
So as I purposelessly push last night's leftovers aside for tomorrow's, I am satisfied that my shelf stays full And my floor unstained.
i dangle my feet over the edge of hell. i'll never do it, but i wonder if i will ever be able to braid my hair by myself tie my shoes smile like a two year-old who thinks cookies are the purpose of having teeth and a tongue
if i search in darkness, i will surely find despair and there is a cellphone light glowing in my face as i write this so i should pursue this happiness this temporary thrill i get from internet existence