Someone must be searching for you

with a quiver 

fashioned from

a cardboard tube

my son 

advances

on the straw bale

Five arrows

into the neighbor’s yard

 

he suspects gravity 

is an abandoned god

pushing his prayers 

back to earth

oh, ancient one

reworked a small poem where the title functions as the last line

posted to Poetry Pantry #177

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I told father

I wanted my stout legs

to slip into nylons. Miraculously,

he nodded and planted

velvet flags around

the house. The earth

opened, femme fatale. Strangers,

can keep to their sidewalks,

            their filthy eyes and awnings.

I have the sound of my father

laughing in eyeliner, wiping away

his tears with blooming rivers.

Before he died, he waved

his steelyard hand, in prayer

for the Pleiades to watch me in his stead.

He gave me Lou Reed, the strength

of all-weather flesh, and a full heart

to see

and work it.

found this poem from the opening salvo of Dreaming in Satellite, original since removed

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I follow the split wall

down through the cage bones  

there is an urge to cup

the entrails, to bewitch

feel the carcass flow

in union with the downslope grass

meat relaxed, unlike the numbers

pressed into the casing   

snow in dialog with sun, an equinox

of hunt and hunger

shows how good it is to struggle

to redden, like indebtedness

the hammer of a final zero

its empty mouth quantified

or the revelation of three digits

quivering in the still warm cavity

rolling dice, stirring tea

spending a Saturday stacking rocks

so I can clear my throat and step

into the black, throwing it over my back

taking it to the vault to cool, and breathe
where bliss is golden


 ________________________
my response to the prompt of something quite ordinary

Unbridled

night’s marbled hand

dropped a needle

from an old-growth pine

the constellations have hit it

rich, they have cast their ballots:

the purled wild rock lizard and high-volt dove

a bugling elk grieves his wild anthem, 
fading; one more blistering figment,

suitcase in its hand, a new

mud and fur satellite is lifted

taken to the stars, another light

velvet angel, transformed,

our ears bend skyward

Cain the Redeemer

Swaddled in golden down, the heroes

repose; the feathers of the caressed 
swan fill their shirts. A crippled beast 

cowers in the forest, wearing his eye 
like a purple moon—fluttering.

A carnivorous sedge carves the tongues 
of lovers. Stars erode the talk of ages

and hurled rock;

The birth of light disappears 
into a darkened city.

Spent breasts maintain a ceiling

of unsustainable evil—generations ill-prepared

to outfit the winged grandchild: the upturned crown, 
Gotham’s moon slipped in smoke.

Citizens, toss back the criminal’s goblet, 
embrace your demon emerging from the lake.