great flock of orange moths took to flight all at once.
before they wakened and flew id not noticed them,
their bright orange blent in with the brown of the canyon.
when i looked round i noticed several such flocks
little orange mouths pursed and waiting for
a single one of them to alight. they all will.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
1.11.15
can anyone take full credit for their boat?
just sail best you can without steering,
take accountability for the boat, leave
the rest to mapreaders.
just sail best you can without steering,
take accountability for the boat, leave
the rest to mapreaders.
1.11.15
o its gonna rain
a good thing to remember when you break down
is its all the same when you break it down.
she laughed, i’ll write you off like a rich man
writes off his taxes. she carried a bottle
into the bed. her diction and mine
meant the same anyway, we were finding.
she was teaching me the ways of
Southern Ladies.
i cleaned the tub all over which red hairs climbed.
i noticed thru the window a rattle of seeds,
i breathed.
the pods dangling wind strangled twixt
and tween frogs or bugs lullaby—sucking me in
to thin wine. and i never know if it is frogs or bugs singing.
the day i gave up i wrote a poem to God who i dont know
or care to, just one coconspirator to another,
cursing him for the damn bugs wont show their faces!
you goddamned crickets! i cursed.
show your fucking selves.
and so resigned i was, at that.
went to an Al-Anon meeting with Rosemary
later. sat away from her in the back.
Just For Today they all said.
went round the room, everyone taking a turn
saying just for today i will be relaxed in traffic.
just for today i am grateful for my children.
my turn, i said just for today i am done with it.
the room waited, so i clarified, ‘all of it.’
later i stood outside by a bush smoking.
i was lost in the traffic of my thots.
i looked down at the bush and
here was a cricket!
i thot it was a cricket-----it looked like i thot
one would,
but still i second-guessed it.
my pulse worked extraordinarily a woman
comes out. fellow smoker, thankfully.
excuse me ma’am, i begged, is that bug right
a good thing to remember when you break down
is its all the same when you break it down.
she laughed, i’ll write you off like a rich man
writes off his taxes. she carried a bottle
into the bed. her diction and mine
meant the same anyway, we were finding.
she was teaching me the ways of
Southern Ladies.
i cleaned the tub all over which red hairs climbed.
i noticed thru the window a rattle of seeds,
i breathed.
the pods dangling wind strangled twixt
and tween frogs or bugs lullaby—sucking me in
to thin wine. and i never know if it is frogs or bugs singing.
the day i gave up i wrote a poem to God who i dont know
or care to, just one coconspirator to another,
cursing him for the damn bugs wont show their faces!
you goddamned crickets! i cursed.
show your fucking selves.
and so resigned i was, at that.
went to an Al-Anon meeting with Rosemary
later. sat away from her in the back.
Just For Today they all said.
went round the room, everyone taking a turn
saying just for today i will be relaxed in traffic.
just for today i am grateful for my children.
my turn, i said just for today i am done with it.
the room waited, so i clarified, ‘all of it.’
later i stood outside by a bush smoking.
i was lost in the traffic of my thots.
i looked down at the bush and
here was a cricket!
i thot it was a cricket-----it looked like i thot
one would,
but still i second-guessed it.
my pulse worked extraordinarily a woman
comes out. fellow smoker, thankfully.
excuse me ma’am, i begged, is that bug right
there a cricket?
yes, she gazed at it.
you sure?
she looked at me. okay, okay, i told her.
thank you, and i know it is. we smoked in silence.
i got home and he had written me.
he wrote that for some time now
hed had the suspicion there were crickets actually inside
his house. hed felt sure of this, but now he had his proof----
he found a cricket in his kitchen
it was going
to be raining.
yes, she gazed at it.
you sure?
she looked at me. okay, okay, i told her.
thank you, and i know it is. we smoked in silence.
i got home and he had written me.
he wrote that for some time now
hed had the suspicion there were crickets actually inside
his house. hed felt sure of this, but now he had his proof----
he found a cricket in his kitchen
it was going
to be raining.
1.11.05
Divining Rod
i am at the beck and call of no man.
and shld i be?
theres not a woman on this earth knows more
bout me than me,
only the universe can, and rightly say one word
about it
the universe can since its as many songs by
verse and flows all about me as within me
i rise.
i am at the beck and call of no man.
and shld i be?
theres not a woman on this earth knows more
bout me than me,
only the universe can, and rightly say one word
about it
the universe can since its as many songs by
verse and flows all about me as within me
i rise.
to the occasional:
thru poetry alone i survive.
flood warning bridge may ice before i do melt
my words decide way before i do.
poetry wooed and plagued me her sultry ways
killen the whole time i turned into her
like a chair leg
into the knee of affable
affinity
the old ineffible my divinity. i did not pardon
myself. i was that much obliged.
thru poetry alone i survive.
flood warning bridge may ice before i do melt
my words decide way before i do.
poetry wooed and plagued me her sultry ways
killen the whole time i turned into her
like a chair leg
into the knee of affable
affinity
the old ineffible my divinity. i did not pardon
myself. i was that much obliged.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
1.7.15
Any Incision
My idol-idol our love is sumthing
that ought be incised, scraped, filleted
or gently rolled off its skin, and propped
maybe on sword piks, held open like stomach
matter before the medical examiner,
and then this stuffing of ours could be
discarded, dragged eventually from the dumpster
by rodents, tracked after by dogs, and walked by
dog-walkers onto fine carpets to be likewise
dredged over all of the floors of both of
our houses, trace by bitty trace making it
back out to the lawns outdoors, and in
again; eventually dried grey and disinfected,
but our love wont allow any incision, will it?
that ought be incised, scraped, filleted
or gently rolled off its skin, and propped
maybe on sword piks, held open like stomach
matter before the medical examiner,
and then this stuffing of ours could be
discarded, dragged eventually from the dumpster
by rodents, tracked after by dogs, and walked by
dog-walkers onto fine carpets to be likewise
dredged over all of the floors of both of
our houses, trace by bitty trace making it
back out to the lawns outdoors, and in
again; eventually dried grey and disinfected,
but our love wont allow any incision, will it?
1.7.15
incredibly
tight with my crafty
incredibly tight with my crafty
don't like anything nassty
drawin up plans theyyy beautiful
livin in hills that bounty
trees got to me way back
i see how sharp lines
in wizened bark form eyes
i see /how sharp lines be
yeah never loose like paint
water o my brook seems quaint
cuz once tried to be a saint
but you know i ain't dutiful
still incredibly tight with my
crafty
drawin in lines they enact me
yeah only like whatsss musical
livin in hills that bounty
trees in these foots i walk all the
time seein sharp lines
trees in these foots i walk all the
time seein sharp lines
widening mine
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