implosions are for starfish and our mission is clear. we have nowhere to be from
and that's half the battle. we are seldom unbridled in the chastity of our carnal bluff...
and our cages are breathing. we are finally designing our most daring Inertia.
both mum on the details in the devil's flotsam. we jot some of the names of the nameless...
on the outside of Dixie cups. like mint julep promise to a tangerine honest.

again and again, we ache through the breeze of our soothing traumas. we court the verity of a sham.
we blast through the congregation of our adversary, snipping varmints from a stale camp
in the southernmost of our due south,; where they fear the bonfire until a vagrant maps
the flaming tongues to a long kiss.... and we crash upon the shore
of Never Asked.

but regret This.

It was June and not summer,
Splashy, muddy, slimy,
wind-kissing roads of Chennai in sight,
I hear, "Jennifer, Jennifer."
Aloysius' wife answers in.
Break - in the movie, I sip my coffee.
Water was rising in the southernmost state of India,
Destruction or development,
Recovery or renovation,
Right words struggled to meet right arms,
Jennifer and Aloysius buffered in the background,
House I was not in was sinking.
I stopped watching snowflakes in the Americas,
Wished for a sun-feast in Kerala,
I lapsed to places sitting at the window pane,
Netflix didn't help the cultural fix.
here, thoughts succumbed, coffee mug dried up.
While uninvited ants,
swept my coffee off the sugarcoat...

my body is a word.

my son
a naked body.

my eden is Eden.

my word is southernmost.

my postman is a priest
confused     in a field
of poppies
who happens upon
a rusty     as created
knife.

my son is sick.
my son is my soap.

my triumph is a stuffed crow
hourglass
of the aforementioned
priest.

Roaring walls of water and crazed foam
Stubborn gulls
A complete and eternal gray
sea bear bellows

Here life is rude
pertinacious
inexhaustible
Here life gives us hope

Terra Dal Fuego (sonnet)
Ushuaia the southernmost town in Argentine when I dreamt
of going there, we got around about on sturdy horses
herding sheep with Portuguese immigrants, islands protect
Terra Del Fuego from worst of the oceans meet, and it is
called the roaring forties. Now it is a modern town no horse
manure in the road the smell of wet wool has gone too
yachts moored in the harbour they sail the Magellan Strait
thus avoiding the duel where two giant oceans meet

Ushuaia was the end of the world no one came here except
weird people and no temperature difference between
the seasons, yet no it is bustling with would be sailors with
rolling gait suited for a heaving deck, but they can wait for
calmer weather; the amateur sailors wore a captain’s cap  
and blue blazers with shiny buttons on

poems from my most recent self-published collection {name calling}, available on Lulu:

~

[boy with bible]

scissor his hair
with fingers
from the hand
of your longer
arm

picture him
as a hardscrabble
mystic

gay

/ the frog shepherd

~

[entries for loss]

can we stop this talk of the baby cut in half and ask why this town has two graveyards. show me a dog showing an angel where to dig. the brothers have all gone underwater to raise money for hand signals and the sisters have taken from a tale of snowfall an ****** to amnesia’s headstone. the parts of the movie you look at

vanish. it’s my fault there’s a god.

~

[entries for yield]

in laundromat
my stomach
moves
my bed

my blood wears a blue sock

and a fly goes down on melancholy’s crossword

my sister is here to have gum in her hair
and hair
in her mouth

tooth is the ghost beak is not

mom makes us wear most of it home

the animal’s first time as something else

~

[entries for transformation]

i.

is there blood in something born outside,

a history that works in one ear?

ii.

time touches nothing. is the *** of my bruise

/ a scar

~

[entries for water]

seasons by the look and smell of him being beaten.

a hole in a fingerprint. doll overboard.

~

[a letter, silent]

a letter, silent

dropped by a word
into window’s
bible

–

cot, diving board, empty pool. southernmost

search

for earpiece.

–

medusa

her headless
horseman

a letter, silent

dropped by a word
into window’s
bible

–

cot, diving board, empty pool. southernmost

search

for earpiece.

–

medusa

her headless
horseman

California--earthquake country--
Faces a threat that's true:
A massive quake we call the Big One
Is LONG overdue.

We must face the facts, and here
Is something to think about:
California's experiencing
A so-called "earthquake drought."

The southernmost stretch of the San Andreas
Fault--it appears--
Hasn't had a major rupture
For 340 years!

When it happens--man o man!--
We'll be rocking and rolling.
Even though we're better prepared,
That's not too consoling.

The ground will shake, overpasses
And bridges may collapse,
And houses can slide off their foundations
As the seconds elapse.

Walls will crack, chimneys will topple,
Dishes will crash on the floor.
We will see a mess such as
We've never seen before.

Knick-knacks will fly off the shelves.
What else? It's hard to tell,
But bookcases and curio cabinets
Will topple over as well.

Objects will fly across the room.
So, be sure to stand clear.
If the magnitude is high,
Damage will be severe.

Gas lines, sewage lines,
And water mains may break.
Widespread, destructive fires
May happen after the quake.

We may be without power
And water for many days.
Helpless, we will have to stand by
And watch the fires blaze.

The Big One could happen now,
Tomorrow, or years down the line.
To scorn its inevitability
Would be asinine.

Without warning, the quake will occur.
It's hard not to be scared.
I'm NOT looking forward to that day.
Tell me: are you prepared?

-by Bob B (3-5-19)

When you walk along the wooded path
In the nature my heart held dear
Remember the joy that it gave me
And know that I will always be near

Remember me

When a robin announces his presence
Singing solo as the day becomes new
The doe lifts her head to listen
As her fawn drinks the freshness of the dew

Remember me

When an Otter glides through the river,
His swim is a masterful one
He engages his mate in a playful chase
Then they climb on the rocks to sun

Remember me

When the rustling leaves touch the autumn sky
Boasting colours of yellow and gold
Geese fly on their southernmost journey
To escape from the beckoning cold

Remember me

When the North wind blows through towering pines
It delivers a mid winter’s chill
While snowflakes land softly on fresh frozen lakes
And the call of the wild becomes still

Remember me

In each of these things, remember me
And know that I’ll always be near
The woodlands, God’s wondrous Creation
In his nature my heart held so dear.

To you I rejoice

to the Hemlocks
that are gone

I find that ghost of a Spring
where you and I once lived

Perhaps

you were really here
perhaps not, mellowed in

the mud and fire
I step out of myself

slide into focus
capturing this space

forgiving You

How I cherish
its southernmost edges

as day drops to what was
this side of the light

of the sharp hills and valleys

raising you

without you

close to Evening

so close