Reformation

sand cascades from the cathedral
a shard of green glass taxes 
the thumb, flesh has no parallel

so close to the ocean, possibly save
the seaweed pods that pop so crunchy 

charred fences return 
to float off, these are hard days  
for soft structures

the circle surrounding the steeple
fills slavishly with foam
one must laugh theologically
watching wafting water

pull the work and treasure 
out beyond outstretched arm 

this collapse, this laborious loss
is in harmony with buoyant souls

re-forming to skim 
over the weight 
again, and again the

————————-

for Poets and Storytellers United: joy in chaos

The Nose

silent about face, it alone 
can cause humming hair

to stand, back when hair

fought scale and fin

when summer drenched

sweat, the body beat

the rain to the punch

reptilian, hissing

straight to the brain

as if it were the surviving crone

snoring cantos of our names

without use of spine or nervous 

system, this means maggots 

bathed in putrid meat

the predators draw near

this probe can grab smoke

or decay, remove it, sure

leave discernment to the crow 

in verse of feathered caw

unhallucinatable, it knows 

the olfactory assumptions 

once a caravan, once a sum

savior while eyes struggled 

for awareness in deep caves

there, tadpole, the sea 

and scent of salty cream

so thick you taste it

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

dVerse: The optician's words (I think I used them all, or at least variations of :)

A Good Return

among the forward, our fervor holds
serpent human and orchid 
go set against each other

so wonderful then, a companion 

to lounge beneath strange trees 

roots like tongues tangled 

where words falter, what is blood 

when we have branches

a fig, a frond, inside jokes

knowing nods for gentle ribs

when fire blooms into the sky 

magma crust and vine

we will chuckle in verse

cling to petals, unmoved

daring each other to go first

_______________________

Writer's Digest Wednesday Prompt: Friends

No Nothing

a thunderhead loomed
like a warship sheltered 
in a storm-lashed port

with it, firepower to burn

it all down—the sparrows

 

swooped around the pink elms

snails so calm, I slept 

to research god’s intentions

the hint of rupture 

moved on, as we all 

suspected

____________

in response to d'Verse: take a hint

Incessantly

in the arterial light hullabaloo 
the veins are awake at night
scrolling like ants out past dark

 

the old gargoyle dampness

of intentions gives way 

to mud and smudges

the mirror into hours 

and how the brain

shrieks for pause, maybe

a heart still or silent ear 

please, mercy me 

marrow the mind

 

shut my eyes like lances 

poked through bone 

a stark reminder

for the need of bone

and deeper dream

barely present, I should 

pause the flare

of howling glass

touch cotton and learn 

the names of rivers over time

______________

Poets and Storytellers United: Friday Writing brain rot

Orpheum

when sunrise was young and wet
angels threw forth lyrics
in polysyllabic fire

gabbing gurus

chimed in dawn

their faces illuminated like

a noncanonical manuscript

their music luscious and open

poetry sang, perpetually

speaking in bells, their tongues fold

into camels, rhythm tight

to slide from the needle

and pop the speakers

mother, taking stock

of the dancing crowd, notes

the t-shirts through the smoke

Black Francis and Mr. Bungle

and while everyone stood

some souls rose

for what it’s worth

____________________

Written late for Writer's Digest Wednesday Prompt: Appraisal

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