Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Settle

To come to rest
like dust
like birds on boughs
peaceful fall 
it is enough.

To quiet, to calm
through muddy waters
see
and make firm

To compact
lives into boxes
photographs
and song

To conclude
place in order
worn leather soles
knot on finger.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Spring Break

One week break to recharge.   
Love and light to all!





Friday, April 10, 2009

This Town

A child moved.

Stores shut down
And were replaced by the nothing
That subsists in abundance
There. In the Copper Country

They predicted when the mines
Ceased to spew ore and minimum wage
The rhythm would syncopate,
Dissonant, then dissipate.
And they were right.


But the men from the mill
Still go drinking at Stubb's Bar
And the kids still double-dog dare
To jump from the abandoned railroad trestle
Free from rotting wood and rusty ties
To the muddy river below.


Past the small brick buildings and
Past the old water tower and the IGA
The new blinking red light
On main street



For David

you are not broken
you are not defective
or elusive or ethereal
or incomprehensible.

you are not alone.

and yet
you like to imagine yourself
all these things.

you are my friend
so i humor you
like a parent 
pretending not to notice
the hide-and-seeking toddler
beneath the kitchen table.

At some point
the injustices will pile up
and the act will grow tired
the version of your Should-Be life
so far removed from What Is
that you will stop
and rest
and be
and notice nothing is broken

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

rationalize

constructed a reality
that partially exists
validating my truth
and contradicting his
the hours spent repairing damage
i was certain i had caused
only to be met with stony silence
or was it pregnant pause
was a flood of redemption waiting
behind his perfect lips
or an urge to surely strangle
course through his fingertips
at which moment did we devolve
while marinating in disconnect
to the creatures we are presently
saturated in selfishness




blank

a blank page
a blue-white screen
monolithic phonemes
a tongue is pressed against teeth.
a clenched jaw blood-blistering cheek




Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Gutter

As fast as fingers learn
To spread the skin
Temptation finds an entrance
You learned the language
That turns my head
Is not earnest or eloquent.
But a culvert full
       of carnal, hoarse, hungry words
Spoken under streetlights.



path well worn

Tried and truthful witness
To the burden I have lifted

This midnight bonfire
Conceals the fine lines of retreat
In shadows blue with late June heat

The flames, desire waning
To embers glowing and fading
I beseech, and begin to release
Path well worn and journey complete






Monday, April 6, 2009

April Weather Advisory

The generals are predicting an invasion;
A million troops of
Kamikaze crystalline warriors
To sacrifice their
No-two-ever-alike selves
To the noble cause of
Headlights and highways.



Housekeeping to Room One

Here, entombed in sterile walls,
Death is hidden under coarse sheets.
Bodies like white elephants.

Death, I thought, was dressed in black suits
In earth-tone parlors,
Stands by mahogany boxes lined with pale blue silk.

Here he was,
Hidden under white sheets
Wearing wool socks, blue sweatpants, one shoe.



Thursday, April 2, 2009

Forgiveness

A harmony lingers
Where there is
Dissonance and wild syncopation
Like some awful rendition
Of a Stravinsky overture
Revolutionary pattern
An Evolution.
Maybe this is what
Mother Earth felt
When life first began
A little bewildered
A little alone
And a little more ready
To understand.



bloodword

Words drowned,
Dried
On the surface of my tongue.
You once mentioned
The copper-flavored kisses
Bestowed,
Pale light.
Not blood or bile,
No,
It was these words
Dissolving, contorted
Revolving, distorted.
The lines of your face
Jaded.


Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Tree

In this place, populated with echoes
Not much older than forty years,
The memory of these trees is not long.
Maple and ash are tender and expectant
Awaiting the ushering in of seasons
Deep beneath the snow and sleeping grass
They almost hear 
Genetic rememberings
Sit-upon-lap stories
Of lichens and croci
Soft, dampened chords through barren branch
Resonating tribal humming, low and distant.
We are learning to listen.
We are learning patience
Together, we young things.