Wednesday, November 17, 2010

burn into recognition
the link of communication
between street lamps and wheat fields
temptation and redemption

the last folly step--carefully
drafted in the pale day under spread-out dreams
where morning glories made of iron
wrought the etched light
moving into dawn
whispering about silent
and chaos

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

a quick sketch for a spoken piece (reads a bit different off the page)

so you called me again on the phone
bones sufficiently rattled
i always sigh sad when you call–
you—a pole throwing out your line, looking for hook–
I know you
how addicted to the weight-on-the-line you are
gasping with ripped lips and stuttered words
while your silver hands reel them in blue
knowing the real energy spent is post catch---
something about gut-letting

what really tangles me though
what really splays me open wide
lays me out to dry
is your agonizing.
how you belly ache agonize dramatize over every soul in your life
except for the one
who flips sense off while running mindhoops and muses gritteeth
biting chunks of spitmemory leaving them like bread crumb trails
so as not to forget how bad—and wonderful—things can feel

but what way home to feeling is not blanketed with
irony—the wife of cosmic delight

the irony that we fist fight everyday
taking in black eyes and sucking mouthfuls of ‘what-if’s and could have’s’
the irony that without, this estranged space between you and me
would be nill
that without this heart-stretching, moon shinning distance
where would this love poem be?
where would the hand-scratched letters be sailed out too address sent and postmarked
as our annual reminder pushes the bed sheets into the corner of mind–
so much to loose and forget while taking punches in the stomach for risk

with future in our eyes--blinding ample simple conversation
about letting go without ever saying so
polite overture to moving on while staying in touch
discord dealt
an image of whiteness, silence and bare space