Between Us

floating in the arterial harbor 

rainbow balloons bob

in intertwining pipeworks, I lost 

the berry-lipped woman in the hullabaloo 

I imagine she reclines back

in the gargoyled hotel, the leather dampness 

of skin everywhere has not escaped me, the guilt

 

fishers cast all around, please, mercy

run your marrow over the muddy calendar

the days’ blades cut from light 

bring me my eyelids, my circus 

white poodle darting across 

the cinnamon lobby, she’s never 

so happy to see a slumbering me 

learning to hold back my water waking

more in love than the morning before

__________________

Written for Writer's Digest: Dreams

To the Wire

from the hierarchy 

of rub: flight or fight 

anyone? an outburst 

without shadow never 

razor burns

stories ricochet 

all over the face, the structure

of being overwhelmed 

the old brainhall swinging 

away at old age anxiety 

relax—aloe or no 

smile, the authentic package

a new look, cleans up

16 ounces non greasy

essentially fragrant free

each adventure be by 

a shave, biochemical 

and alive

by a hair 

----------------------------------------------

Revamped from older poem below

----------------------------------------------

Comfortable to the Skin

In the hierarchy of rub: flight 

Anyone? An outburst or significant after 

With shadow, it never gets a nighttime outcome 

stories+events+STORIES 

ricocheting the structure, being woke

Overwhelmed in the same old brainhall 

swinging more of the age anxiety 

paddlers approval—relax

aloe or no 

Authentically close package

a new look, clean

non-greasy, 16 ounces 

and imaginatively fragrance free

each made adventure

biochemical be

________________________________________________________

for Poets and Storytellers United Friday Writings #159:Making It New

And Fall Short

down, noted
hillside easement
worship dangles weight

quality over height
throw yourself over height

forgo temptation build
monastery insight

each accomplishment
read like a red
side shelf book
by every red word

a small improvisation
stricken by architecture

feel that abandon
a grand door, open

sculpted above all
the world’s kingdom
a shelter designed

just a snakeskin
short of paradise

---------

Writer's Digest Wednesday Prompt

 0 0

Formality

and ghost that poem
many unexpected, go

straw that crow

observe the mechanics 

ammunition by the month 

heard the hobbyists hiccup 

from the criticized, up please 

why the me, you

soft soup poets

 

your river switching 

crawled periodic melody 

be there, in fantasy as much 

divided effort and written to

what up, add a joke

how trial every mountain

then a bathroom 

makes the list

and who 

just sonneted

in Y3K

_______________________________

In response to Poets and Storytellers United: Prioritize

Prioritizing writing this new year (it's been a while) and reading more about poetry in general

Christmas Morning

the Witnesses stand, beholding 
at the unhinged door 

tablets fired up, verses taut

like rattlers’ ready for striking

I’m naked, quiet

hiding, still shaking

nursing a fresh wound 

found in knuckle blood

drywall pounded through

skin flap holes, bone gone sore 

ripped the closet doors  

like holy temple drapes

windows never stood

a chance, knocked by

the telegraphic fist

in these last days, anger 

is all limbs and memory

this gift, this untempered 

bonus, I’ll take it

like my father, my birthright

the red-cell smears bright

across back splash tile

Jesus

this scarred house

creaks

for another

carpenter

and they 

know it

Doomscrolling

 

tucked away in a spidered

corner, a fog-eyed monk

with requisite feathery quill 

scribbles where can we go 

    from here? 

      

o ye

of little imagination

behold all the days 

unraveling, time unrolling

    its carpet for little seeds

        germination defies

            your eschatology

but it’s damn near

impossible not to fixate

    upon the moths

        unfluttered in the wax

to contemplate

    the ghost smoke 

        and final ash

is it possible to not gaze 

    into the bone-abyss

        of a shortsighted calendar 

where the end 

is always nigh

a quick glance outside

would reveal a squirrel 

    stuffing acorns into 

        the empty socket

            of the timeless oak

can you even dare

to peel your eyes 

    from the scroll 

and see

    all your fears 

        are paper

step outside and 

ache accordingly

_____________________

Weekly Scribblings #48: “Words of an Unprecedented Year”

Non-Intervention

inside the rib-white carcass

the wasps made their paper nest

you hit it, full swing

with your angry bamboo 

walking stick, we had 

no business

raising a goat this far out 

in the wilderness, I am sure 

it was a lion

who dragged 

her here

I confess

I didn’t know 

a goat could scream

so human-like, articulate even

but it makes sense when you 

see a half-man half-goat 

carved in ancient bowls 

their voices empty, wistful

hooves planted and silent  

I am sorry 

I heard it all go down

and did nothing, actually

that’s not entirely true

while you slept 

through the tumult

I turned 

the radio louder

to drown out the myth

of man and land 

and fed

your dreams some 

useless chatter