Thursday, December 29, 2011

A Resolution

This year
is elderly

monthly shoulders
sagged in protection

toward a cavernous chest
heavy with days, hours
or crumpled moments

When it was young
the year knew itself
told no secrets

Now it quivers
toward me,

to take to
the grave all it
has born

since I do not know
I would learn
to tell time for you

For instance,
love is
just a yearling
on lengthy legs

Monday, December 12, 2011

Body of Time

There is the way
Time turns its hide inside out

minutes and guts

Arc of neck, then a spilled

I am always in the sun
when the taste of hours
metals its way

Iron and rust against my tongue

Slippery now
is the only balm

when hewn, a hide
makes soft the winter

blind, I live in fleece
and small ticks of motion

my cost
bears up the clocks
turning to feeble and

by bone

centuries peel back their lids

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Safe Keeping

your face a pulpit
words silk
out of me

teach me my ear
teeth wrapping around it

having eaten
foods of other soils

till me like earth

my mouth softer than cottons
holds your name

and time,

a skidding hash mark
black across gentle

begins to erupt
from our brows

I feel it is so

that life enters us all
in secret

no grand moment, symphonic
and gaping open

only a pleasurable morning
slung easily before

the watchtower of our want

faces pressed against
the glass, learning the pain
of color,

a prologue of hours
until we meet again

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Wall Street

there are gamblings
the paint on houses,

making the leaves peel and the
eaves shake gently

the hunters moon
suspended over
a sea of chalky

middle america
street lamps

marks shouts
like accounts
being balanced
on hot red throats

out in the bigger cities, or
the biggest
the people gather their water
and voices
into one
swollen herd
pregnant with

mewling against
meadows of money:

someone stop
our highest
from blocking the winds
that cool

let the wind shoot
across our plains

which is when
the little houses on plains
closed throated

and simply sign the next check.

a body for all seasons

In the color of
forgotten organs,

deep mottled tissues, I find

a world diseased in

in only seeing the edge
of things, I climb up

winter through fall,

the tracks I have yet to make

in yielding snows

my gray body sings
even though its

skin is sloughed into
the sky

I am a dappled season,
the fragrance of rot

firmly loved, utterly welcomed

for its shameless ability
to change

My organs are hidden

in laughing caverns
wearing their colors as though they were crows

Monday, September 26, 2011


something smells civilized in here

like thunder contained on television

or a yearn,

what’s basic here?
a breath between

or words that make sex

in the wild
find themselves blue,
or only eyes

ask me again

in your
whisper that tears up

a room

like strips of paper.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

A Ten Minute Treatise On My Face

my face does
and peacefully
pushes air around

it catalogues the moments

a jar full of seasons

then busts and hangs
from a dry July branch

it is a smile

there are only
so many ways
an egg can taste bitter

the shell, for example

my face does
little to embalm
a minute

it only opens

a yearn for your flavor

Monday, July 11, 2011

How Big The Ocean, 2nd Edit.

at night
he oceans
among tense fabrics
scraps of home

hook skin
yet ooze so sweet

they become
blooms expiring

some home

plaits of days
braid lonely luster

plates of food
gesture back

colors behind them

smearing, smiling

lovers knuckles
cloudy violet

He, or any man
any stupid century

smell permeates

their membranes

bloat and fever

walking into
three-legged memory
is every day

when bells clang
it’s the charm of other shores

I ocean

in waking

ancient as continents

through morning’s resplendent rooms

all unmaking

corrosion’s grope,

is being vertical

is gone times

is shores of houses

drifting in
breath bells

Monday, May 23, 2011

Deep Breaths

the air smells
like everything

tastes rolled
between teeth
music that sat in
my ears

the sky,

which talks
picture clouds
arches smell

through my hair

I could mention
borrowing those
bundles of lilacs,

but the rain will replace
what I’ve used

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Sunday, April 17th, 2011 (For Gramp)

when I learned you were gone
I was at the top of the hill

when my shoulders began to
quiver I had reached the bottom

robins bounced along
the ruddy grass so insistent
on its verdance

clumps of colors or flowers
passed their lives
under clamor of cloud
and April gustings

what a day to have
your soul
lifted beyond

when I knew I would miss you
I walked to the market
to caress the vegetables,
to purchase cured meats

Sunday shoppers
jostled sleepily against me
and everywhere
colors kept insisting, inserting

when I finally cried for you
I was home
slung deep beside
the warm hearth
of your memory

dinner on the stove
made by my hands
that just last week
held yours

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

A Month Of Beasts

gullet of March
vessels the vacant
claps of trees

March, my face
lifted words against

March, your lamb
snagged in teeth and
hollow hoof,
shoulders slung
with punctured winter

March, two beast maker
fleece my feet
with fever and chill,
sweat pelts
in your brackish afternoons

March, a skin of talk
words mingled
swapping genetics

March, quiver me
in crocus beds,
epidermal fissures
not pelt
but column of speak

March, plain robes
of sky, bare back of earth
unsure of inevitability
talk with the wool of
your eyes
talk soft

March, hush your mane

Tuesday, February 22, 2011


what press is that
on skin
and vowels, tight
hunger ?

(skin before color)
such as sinking
motions or comets
in lazy trees,
when light ruptured

memory, you,
a lump in my spine
press tight

cramped behind teeth, eyes
a breath resumes
words as saddles
some things
buckled to
my tongue

to know
snow in lungs presses,
a blue truth
architects our flesh

time like a coffin
at high speeds
through joyous winds
it over, or if only

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

how big the ocean when you wish to be far away

at night
he oceans
softly beyond horror

in waking
a body’s cursive skin
remembers laughing

then the act of morning
resplendent with apology
afflicted with new

walking into a
three-legged day,
each time, bells everywhere

luxury of forging memory
concrete and steel collecting
in the corners of cities

put some blood
to those bells
as he oceans
coming clean away

never the cut that healed straight
mind the life going infinite
in forgetting

a life rendered
from fat of moments
is thus shouldered by skies

missives or letters
plain speak in first waking,
how hungry for the past

he oceans certain
all moments
unbound to him