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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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.
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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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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