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Art for the Sake of Life

 

It’s all danger
here–
this you know, you feel
in the tapping at your temples
the throbbing
in your ankles. Danger
screamed in yellow exclamation
marks against your brow.
Yes.
They say it.
You say it–
All danger here.

Continue reading “Art for the Sake of Life”

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Making Sense

 

How to make sense
in a world neglecting
crayons. I need paper
please    that white blank paper
is vital
so much    is vital
so much    is vital
so much    is    missing.

If I cannot make sense
(and I cannot buy it)
then I must steal
sense. Take it with my chalk
hands, leave finger outlines
on the black velvet    feel the curtains swirl
so like a dog’s ear.

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Creative Process

 

Three cheers of a dusted dawn;

electric angels sweep the streets, and light
clouds skip stones against the still lavender
waters of the canal. Earth sings
her morning tune, low and orange
against the cool palm breeze.

Creation calms and tells
me I must start today
from the inside. No half
expressions.

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Investment

 

Financing a mind with a paradigm;
shuffling incessantly
past cardboard mementos, digging for
that spare cash we’ve got flapping
around in the love seat.

Who’s to win
in this array of dissonance,
this projection screen?

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Skin Sounds

 

Joy arrives soundless
in a cool morning breeze;
sunrise rattles through
oak palm trees, cooing
as she goes, swishing
through the drooping leaves.

Infinite moments heard
by skin only.

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Gentle

 

Collapsing
I tucked my head against my chest
and listened to my heart
beat.

Strong
it whispered
and my ego faltered
and I could hear the ego falter—
and I, faltering,
briefly
exposed
an open window to torrential rain
marooned against a million chairs
held up hardly at all.

The trick is always
to let the rain in
and the carpet go.

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Calling the Eagle

 

What work
am I called here for?

Me,
in fish form, scales silver
against an evening sun
swimming circles around my coldwater lake

calling the Eagle.

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But Surely

 

Surely
it can’t all be cast to the tan lines.
The sun—our cicerone across
this celestial plane, casting
her silhouettes upon skin shapes
etch-a-sketching that which we outfit ourselves with—
Surely.
That can’t be it.

Because
I see him

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World of Plenty

 

At the end of it all

rests the trees.
Time stands just
as requested in the company
of pines. My steps
are holy circles, hewn
deep and echoing;

I listen

as my ten-thousandfold world system shivers
like a wheel barrow child
barreling down a grassy slope, arms stowed
against chest. Bullets rain
dully, as dumb as porcelain and
half so strong.

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Hawaiian Twilight

 

Mustard-patched sweat on skin
damp and oily, suddenly licked
wide & clear
with a salty breeze.

The rose blooms tonight.
For my part, I shall bear witness;
there is nothing quite like
the blooming of a rose.

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Let There Be Ease

 

Mahalo, my love
for your blue eyes.

For the soul eyes impressed
on my own when I rest
&
let shoulders lie easy.
Let all the palm trees
be breezy. Let
the waves
on sand shores
crest.

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Mountain in Glass

 

I am the mountain against the shattered panes of glass;
dynamic quests for focus leaving
a viewer head-tilted
more confused than ever.

Dawn mist
lit amber saffron, sweeping
streaming willowing between
fern slopes.

Still slopes.

As still as possible.

Continue reading “Mountain in Glass”