Might be something by Eno, might be music, really waves drawing back along stones, the wet revealing unpolished fragments and razor clam shells exposed, slicing Jagged foot paths - curved, aimless, unEnglish-garden-style, the fog covering the means and ways, that cut and bruise, draw sacrificial blood with each step Lost, alone in weird thoughts, a … Continue reading Any Moment Now
Tag: poetry
Whether Committal
Do you want me? Every time the wind shifts How much is every? It's weather - it's always shifting
SCIENTIA TEMPORIS
And there is bark beneath your fingers. Readable, the way Braille is readable - as long as you have a mirrored codex living under your skin. And in a forest, with book upon book, a formed library, perhaps cathedral - in various states of growth and decay. They are one thing, they are another, mirrored … Continue reading SCIENTIA TEMPORIS
Fourteen
King Ram, a brideless exile, stalked by shades in the silent wood.Set, to rip a godinto 14 perfect pieces, reverentlywithin the Minotaur’s gates.Hot bull’s breathupon a shoulder, the burning teeth and limbs entwining.Now lifting an acacia lance, bodies unformed and reforming.Bull’s lusty urges, birthing onethe gift received, the life unfolding.The life unfolded, failing.The heated kiss, … Continue reading Fourteen
Thirteenth
The broadened view, an owl winging This… life. coasting shadow dark dappling a whitened meadow. Echo across cold earth, time, your voice… This reminder… this sudden kiss "Always. You know this."
The Twelth
This kiss, this sun on skin,breaking leaves give way to heavy steps.This path a mirrored dream,These brambles rip, tear - kiss. The broken skin, sky ripping. Shouting. Crackling. Burning.My mind full of an echoing shout:your words a scornful lecture, fading.The distant voices. The chorus of morning.
The Eleventh
...morning, after morning,sun is burning, banished, clouded,cold in winter, ice wrapped round branches,shielded from spilling seed, numbed:the numbing of heat - kissing me like you mean it,when you don't - as frost lines our windows, drafts slip underfoot, bodies cooling, motion less certain, a faded blue eye, looking west across fallow fields,broken buildings.
In the Fall
And in the fall we go raking,bamboo-toothed tools ripping up the dry grass,sweeping leaves that crackle when dry -black spots amongst the hues of red and yellow,the camouflage of New England hills and dalesrustling under feet. And in the fall we go burning,burning,burning -the pits and chimneysturning seeds, water, earthinto heat, soot, blowing ash. And … Continue reading In the Fall
That Dominion
When I used to love the rain, I found work as an umbrella salesman When I loved the sun, shade became my shelter The wind caressed me, so I locked my windows and sealed my drafts I would become numb to it, move my boat from following seas and into rocky coves Stone shelter I … Continue reading That Dominion
after midnight
And we will have, then,these mornings filled with long silences,fingers brushing bare shoulders -that pull away without remorse. And we will see, there,that naked form under shower water,the flash of flush skin under heated water -and we will not begin,unbidden,unwanted. And we will taste, then,salty, wet skin,our tears splashinginto clever coffee cups,sup and sip,the eruption … Continue reading after midnight
