You are a sweet morning,
tumbling back and forth underneath covers.
sun falling on skin lightly.
corners of mouths upturned and welcoming.
Sweet roses come grow,
in water and through hands tracing lines,
I want to know you.
I would travel to galaxies and stars with you anytime.
Your heart is slinking fair form calligraphy that falls from your lips,
you are beautiful honest truth and shrieks of laughter.
Sleepy me is not doing to well on the poetry front.
But I had a cool fun night when it came down to it. With a wonderful appearance by Punk Rock Girl.
Down to business tomorrow.
Bricks on my shoulders?
I ask for rocks and I get boulders,
I’m not asking to get wiser and older,
I’m asking to get hotter than colder.
Don’t ride on lightning bolts and expect your skin to molt,
for new skin to grow back and form leather bound memory
You are there,
effervescent and alive in sockets,
Trip on dried leaves of grass,
drained of all their waters fast,
I sunk your ships and crashed on shores
then worked my way through wooden doors,
I believe that if you stare into the sun,
you don’t go blind
you see the heart of desire.
It burns away everything else.
When you are eating Oreo brand sandwich cookies, and you bite into a piece of ham and realize that in fact you are not eating Oreo brand sandwich cookies, but you are eating a ham sandwich with lettuce and mayo. The coffee pot dings. Or maybe it was the doorbell. You look up and your wife is standing there, coffee mug in hand, laughing. Oh, John. You’re so forgetful after the accident.
The western fence lizard,
black scales against blue sky
flips over on stone
hot with Summer heat
exposing his belly, crystalline and blue,
Scales soft and reflective in the noon sun.
The hawk watches from the tree.
You kept a lizard necklace on,
even when you slept.
I asked you, “Why do you always wear that?”
You said it reminded you of last Summer
when you lived in Pensacola
and worked at Harrison’s Feed Store.
There was a leak that dripped
and made a spot on the floor in the shape
of a lizard in the break room.
I found a
crumpled up letter in
your top drawer while I looked
for my grey Oberlin sweatshirt.
Written on the letter:
"Sarah, keep this letter and this
necklace, even if you never
I will always love you.”
I asked you what you left behind
when you moved to Ohio.
You grabbed your green lizard necklace.
We were laying under a collage
of a mansion in the woods,
guarded by krishna
sitting in a hotrod shooting
reflective flames -
Two mattresses pushed together like life rafts
on a hardwood sea, my body flat and spread
like a starfish, yours straight and pensive
like a pillar candle, waxy, melted
and re-solidified over and over.
I reach for your hand and you pull away,
"This probably isn’t a good idea"
Isn’t necessarily what I had
hoped to hear,
but it was what I needed.
If I was skin on bone,
you were bandaid needed,
but torn away quickly.
UFOs dancing in the rafters,
I fell asleep with my arm across
you, because my thoughts
had aligned two stars
at the wrong time.
Krishna laughing from the wall
could not have guided me.
Being a tourist because of a funeral
can leave you seeing mountains
while your mind is full of piles of dirt
Can a camera hang around your neck
under the palms in California
while thoughts of rosaries hanging from necks,
their beads like black condensation
and rain drops that always fall
move through your head?
Flight attendants bringing
refreshments and neck pillows
as you fly over farms and cities,
like the boat of charon above the living -
The thought of a black hole forming
in the plane and sucking everyone
out, ascending them into the heavens
as if their souls are to be freed
from their bodies.
Rainfall taps on the metal wings.