1.29.15

Stillness

The screech owl doesnt screech. Rather it purrs
softly, or mournfully wails in falling bass tones.

A rose by any other, eh?

Call me a screech owl then. You shld hear me
low to those hills with my heart beating baritone across
the shrubland desert. I cry not anguish but happiness. I cry
without using my lips, my throat, my tongue, my hands. I cry
tucked into dried elipse cuts through the iron stained rock formation
I wld know the name of, had I listened to my seventh grade teacher.
I cry with no sound at all but that damn heart of mine beating its
rufus breast feathers against stone eyrie, I cry sounding contagious,
like a catching cold, or canyons resounding, my soundless joy catches
up to a thing like shade catches up to anything lies still enough.

1.29.15

1.26.15

Grotesque

i lie naked in foliage wearing a Halloween

mask. enchanted by the orange hammock
moon, thin as if Atlas drew it with a sharp pencil,
detail of an escape plan he made while pretending
to work on company-related business. my neck
rests against a lip of cave a lion mouths off in.
he is rattled by the rain.
not me. intermittent driplets feel like kisses.
my throat is thick as stucco. my song stays in.
little leather straps have been worked
into my plaster for good.  i do not absorb rain.
it wont wash my damp leafing. the mask gives me
an undeserved symmetry.

1.26.15

Giant Kelp

you giant kelp, brown algae.
they call you a stonewart. you cannot
even consider land for living on,
no photosynthesis
apparatus 

in yr pockets for surviving
off of sunlight, like he and i did. your cousins,
green & purple entwine the folds of self
awareness. they let themselves out like a pair
of slacks while you bind.  
the moon carves into ice inside one of its
own basins. looks like the same calligraphy
he and i decipher with our feet all
up in your tendrils, eagerly as we sometimes
indulge a vice. we are animals, we come
together, while your very existence
suggests plant life
has been around nearly a half-billion
years in a great divide.