Month: May 2021

metallic herringbone sky spiraling
outward over lush grazing lands
and snow removal signs
and the narrowest
curving bones
over my
inner-
most
heart

beat

with all future endeavors

in gentle palms

swaying

holding in

soaking my mask over my nose

i can't explain to anyone how intense
the green of spring's giving birth
to itself overhead only once a
year the tremble of corporate
tulip shafts and fluttering
petals of crab and cherry

every day that rush

of gratefulness

i am humbled

i'm here

to witness a moment that will never
come again seated front-facing on
a bus past sidewalks and corner
stores and hotels and apart-
ment buildings and the
homes of people i'll
never know and
lawns dotted
with dande-
lions and
violets
and
i

can only just bear that swell of
happiness my arms so full of
what had pierced my heart
with an in-rush of know-
ing what i wanted for
the first time in my
life and the yes
that carried
me to

this day

i offer up what love i have and
that love is returned ten-
thousand fold

can you understand?

such small things i hear in
people's voices when they
trouble the world when
all i have to do is
think back on
that laugh on
pancake
batter
on
a
cheap
futon on
a pixelated
farm on rain
darkened
window
glow
and
in

these two palms

i enclose

all wonderful things

in a disjointed life

i wouldn't trade for
all the world.

May 21, 2021

You were a lost soul
(they said)
but you
found
me.

May 19, 2021

there's not enough
money in the world
for outselling
the pace of
personal
com-
promise
in this red-
hot deal of a
glass barrel.
such a shame!
time being worth more
than money. (i get out when
i can) i don't do it for
the alarm.
no sir.
when they tell me no
two jacket buttons
are the same
i know
they're lying.
i wander.
there's no
electrical current
in the first place. or so
they said. (i can't get
it with my hand
caught in the
door.)
without negation.
i summarize my position.
ahem.
grand enveloping space
which ought to know better.
but i can't go alone.
brittle names all
on fixed incomes.
stay, they said.
but how can i tell?
there's an echo.
in between
the words.
(i'd laugh)
but i'm going
home now.

May 19, 2021

i live a simple life.
uncomplicated. unsophisticated.
unconventional. (a lot of uns
because it's easier to define
an it by what it's not) a
wispy web too bare to
beat a penny's weight.

i don't mind. (i get to talk now)

simple needs need only simple
satisfactions. like a cat: good
food and a bit of sun.

i don't (here i go again) need
so many whats and wheres as one
might expect. (an assumption
of course) i do need (i'm full
up with) love. silly word to
have so many definitions.
'i feel this' but 'i do that'
and do we agree to disagree?
(i never know)

i have so much. i carry with me
the trembling of white violets
electrified by flecks of mica
in a slab of sidewalk. (no wonder
my backpack is so heavy) i leave
behind everything else, everything
i can't afford, which turns out to
be everything else.

i'm overwhelmed.

i gaze over that sleeping face,
along those leafy streets, up into
that distorting sleeve of atmosphere
and remember how small i am, how
short my life, how fleeting the little
waves that shape the shore of memory.

i don't mind.

i get to talk now.

May 12, 2021

the wide-set eyes of the bus
through the leaves of the trees
in July set my heart afloat
above the viscera of urban
daylight on a misty morning
of red brick and hot concrete.

call it what you will. naivete.
a relic of unsophisticated two-
dimensional suburban geometry.
(i'll grant you.)

the landscapes of cities,
of this city, roll through me
wavering waving trembling
quaking aspen shouldering a
burdenless frame of sixty-three
inches of glass and peeling paint.

resistless dissymmetry.

neighbors gray bearded sidewalk chalk
and sneakered steps rise with a rusty
rail all jointed to touch the sky,
palms up, content to face the same
traffic light for a hundred years.

lovely indifference!

(i can't countenance in people
what i seek in structure.)

open out secret corner turns
into the prettiest summer breath.
how could it not? amblers, reflected
heat shimmer, an elevated pitch
all selling a walk as a long string of
bright green, even that moment.
standing alone at the bus stop.
an approaching future. one day,
just another day.
but this day.
this day.

May 7, 2021

some rooted hollow place
where underneath the lips of the
skull the lever pries loose the tolling
of a bell in bronze or steel (i can never
tell) ringing deep and bovine in an
eclipse of shadows that fall in
wash out sink subside
across a flat
plane
un-
done
by a single
strand of nervous
attention (undone washed
out) curling up rising into the dome
of space overhead drinking deep
from the shelter of wicked
wicked talons

May 6, 2021

i walk to remind myself that i'm free.
i can walk away from this job.
i can walk away from this city.
i can walk away from my home,
from my friends. from you.

i can walk away and keep on walking.

but you remind me that i don't have to.
you remind me that i can choose to stay.
i can make my stand here.
i can make a home.
i can make a life. with my friends.
with you.

i have a choice. and i choose. to stay.
for now.

May 6, 2021

green haze through spring rain nets
cloud reflected glass walls in perfect
symmetry of pink and white translucent
petals trembling with beads of fractured
gold illuminating chlorophyll windows
a thousand thousand times shimmering
shimmering gentle drops down

May 4, 2021