Fists to the wall, my marble friend,
for who hears no chime
when the cup is set upon the porcelain?
If you lean in close, you’ll hear
sentences, casting around the four walls
whimpering in rhyme, dripping
in furnishing, fur lined
over long sips of hot tea
cozied up to the counter
longing to call it good—
I wake beside your name—
half in snore, half without
the curling interpretation of window time
patters down from the Mountains.
And in the hushed dew of the dawn pines
the lone, sleepy bee heads forth from hive
to seek the outdoors.
Mingling together, the mountain and the bee,
pollen falls in thick droves
from the heavy clouds.
Key:
x = Donald Drumpf
y = voters
z = state
o = Republicans
b = women
Render the verdict on x.
Y come together to come apart
at the nation’s seams, rippling constantly
a fool’s errand elongated across a sea of z’s,
all in it to win it.
O hold the whip against the non-
whites, the non-brights, the non-O
really, including O.
“Please, b, please love me,” comes the low
plea from shriveled lips of x, cut on shards of lies
and swarming with crusted lice.
It always matter who wins—
& y win by living a good life.
as if the earth under foot
were some
sort of place holder,
stubbornly held firm by
clenched fists
and steam whistle ears
as if they didn’t see that
we could see
that we weren’t the people
they were talking about—
Some imagined the Pope
to come in colors of scarlet and pale frost
candlelight mass and those sorts of hues
not the rosy flushed flesh color,
the color of not human deity
and apparently it was a problem.
Speaking of problem—
Dawn possesses this verse; she
who dazzles finger in the forenoon
gushing abundant the vertical blinds.
Daylight grasps
for duvet covers, trembling, quaking
I howl and go round & round.
Good morning star,
she notifies,
& I behave.
Crouched here,
in my orange wing-back chair
counting the plastic circles
on my white linoleum shirt.
Watches tock around the walls
time steadily stealing through
the shelf, taking its pick of the books.
Door knock.
Continue reading “Science”
What happens.
What happens, when
the cold morning breath of a foggy night
slips under the covers and over the lips
and bare feet stretch evenly over a woolen rug
to a world that smells of light eucalyptus
and an open balcony door —
What happens.
Exactly 11’o clock!
The streets are dark and quiet,
dispelled childhoods tucked deep into beds
of rubber, bleach, contact tracing —
when I look around me I see
my bare feet are blue & bleeding;
I see small swarms of cheeky mongoose rushing
from trash can to trash can
leaving filmy residue on the carpet street walk
down the lane for a while with me
and see what I see.
Weary eyes opened wide
propped up on toothpick espresso cups
licked clean, licked smart
the woman in the wide-brimmed hat
warm breath, wild thoughts
tells us of visions,
the dessert dunes
camels in hand
Mount Tahat in the dust kicked up
no way!
some shout
get outta here!
Standing with salty toes smelling of fish
on the grandstands of Nazare, cliffs so big
cresting giants double the height—
rising great walls of freezing winter water
jackets on so tight, skins the color of rubber
suctioned, hands so white gripping tows
a mammoth wave rising like the froth of a pub beer
it crests and slams—
