I wrote myself some love poems today, outlined in sun near the ocean’s smile. The waves beat down upon charcoal rocks and up frothed a great many minerals. I absorbed them all, flesh-first, like the fern drinks in the rain. I loved myself with pen and with sun; when thirsty, I drank; when hungry, I ate; when sleepy, I slept—and felt no reason … Read More Self Serving
Be patient, and write long. As long as the strokes of your eye lashes pulse the fingers to keys, then both of us remain alive. Be patient. Your dreams have no anchors; let them float light. Let the throat grow easy and jaw relax. Open and close the hinges of your mouth and feel the knobs of your shoulders merge with the elbows. … Read More Write Long
Step one : I throw up my hands and jump out the bus window— What you doing?! I shriek and laugh as my face slams against the hot asphalt. A car screeches beside my left foot. Sticky exhaust blossoms into my mouth from the butt of the bus and the squirrel by the trash can squeaks.
At the top of the outcrop I sat with my knee-bones tight to my chest— the river undulated below, swirling in shades of blues and yellows refracted light on stones of marble the guttural current cut the cliff to slices–jagged & twisted and
If you scowl, they’ll know. They’ll see into that cave smile and know—if you frown, it’s clear to them, that your mind is a burrito and you are the tortilla, wrapped so endlessly it’d take the sharpest knife to separate that mound. If you let a tear squeeze through they’ll see and gasp and wonder what must have happened to you to make … Read More Voices
Release me— my mind is a maze of serpentine storylines, bending and swirling with the Kabul River, cuddling, carving belting the Hindu Kush; Hindu Kush to the Tian Shan; Tengri Tagh or Tengir-Too, anything at all to breathe in Mountains of Heaven. Sharp, cascading inhales of the ice gods, the grins I see in the snow lines, the dusk-shades cast by sunlight—
Two final footsteps echoed against the scratched glass door & off we were— murmuring swampy lives away, lobbing for ourselves the God-given champagne against the bobbing she-queen, Queen of the Nile. Life was in bubbles, great wads of the stuff, tacky & sweet and still criss-crossed in hot-blooded pen— the deeper we burrowed in our footstep murmurs, the deeper we saw; until the … Read More The Gradual Shelf of the Sea
What I yearn for—like you—is a just a notch of catastrophe. Rising up from the soul like pewter rainbows, swimming golden lead, funny and relevant all at the same time—catastrophe. Secret substance of hope, infectious balance; if nothing’s broken it’s all boring. Boredom is safe, too secure. Too responsible. So predictable. Left handle of balance, tipped so easily in this modern day of … Read More Credo