3

These days the wind runs through me. These days all my deeds are done. I drift from imposition to imposition, shift from place to place. I’m only welcomed where I spend or toil. A thing to fill out the scenery. A factotum kept in dust and darkness, a fool to mock and taunt. I just fill the space between deaths, my mind going, my flesh...
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3

It is crucial here to view the moon

as the dreaming sun, the soul

reached by a midnight stream

running through the depths

the woods reveal at night. Here

our arms are open, the stories and

the songs sung long ago,

the moon the first steady stranger

the knock upon the door,

the rattling of the knob, this

relentless apparition

naked in your window,

shameless...
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2

Sunset and the day closes shop, balls up the leaving light and tosses it aside. The atmosphere spills, shadows spill like sand through clumsy fingers as the fist of night slowly closes, the shining sky squeezed until we see stars. Smoke spills into the husk of heaven, the crow swept winds soften and still. The break of the horizon, the magic of the becoming moon,...
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2

Once there was proof,

dusty letters and precious art,

your love in your own hand,

deft and clever and

never there to stay. Once

the words flowed free,

stickers and cartoons and

the poetry and promise

infused into the art of your

passing fancy, paper

hearts and emoji strewn inboxes

the crush you held between

tooth and tongue

dispatched with familiar ease,

a love you...
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3

It is the faintest of kisses,

a lip smack blown from a palm,

a breath behind a mask.

This flavor that lingers

between the burdens of breath and

sky, this tremble laid in

the loamy bed beneath

the heart, this stirring

in the earth, blind root and

subtle fungi casting a line,

setting the spell, the shine of

the moon, the glow of the horizon...
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2

It is in the way the crow calls in the distance, gathering clique and kin. It is the way the soft blue sky is pieced and parted by leaf and branch, a puzzle to ponder and nudge. The day again ends, the sun all giddy up and go against the glowing west. The blind dog walks in circles, all bump and muzzle. The gray skips...
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3

The drear hits hard as the days grow dire, the chill in the wind, the slow in the step. The world goes on, never a wonder for my want. The world goes on, as bad as they can get away with. I lie on my bed and stare at the lamp, trying to temper bone and flesh with a flex to flush the blood. I...
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4

These winds run riot

while illness crowds the walls,

banging through the dog door

sweeping clean the roof.

The animals huddle here

the light so soft and low.

We listen as the sky speeds down,

listen for a stirring or a sign

that the sickness doesn’t sleep,

some sound to replace this dread

gone to bed sick to wake up dead.

3

I smoke as the day runs down, the sun on its errands and the wind with its teeth. Music plays, and I read and write and exhaust my portable diversions. The moon is out and is a mood already. Birth and bloom and reflected glory. Halfway to the big reveal, gravid with ache and intention. I sit alone, having missed my mark a million times,...
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4

The day shoved its way across the sky and the sun had had its fill. The brittle yellow leaves flutter and bow with the meddlesome wind as turkey vultures catch updrafts against the becoming blue sky moon. The streets dance with leaf and litter, whirlwinds and the wake of passing traffic, the train wail scraping the walls right on time. The front porch yet again,...
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