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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
Dance dark
against the moonlight shadows;
the dust will take you deeper–
digging down to shaded levels of
acrid denial
tasting like dental floss.
Dance light
upon the meadow tresses;
the sunbeam spotlights like
braided rope. Fading
numbness from the fingers out
and suffice to say–
the world takes hold.
