Month: February 2017

Third Eye Witnesses

She harvests roses,

rivers,

righteousness.

The world watches her sleep.

Birds peer through her window

like so many anxious dignitaries in a

court of intrigue.

 

She wears the scent of sun

in a vial around her neck.

He will hunt her better nature.

color his prayers with her name.

 

This is yearning –

to be jealous of the air

because it can touch her everywhere at once.

 

In his suit of wool and guilt

he watches her pick bouquets of breeze,

spinning in a plain of demolished satisfaction.

 

At night, he whittles mathematics down

to an immaculate paste of 2

and rubs it over his body

Tomorrow he will wait by the light

and draw her in with his want song.

Mother Luck

Mother Luck

 

Be kind.

This year is sticky and sweet.

My weeks are rotting out.

 

In the canals the water fishes for teeth.

Tuesday is bare backed, draped

over a settee –

too generous with its mornings.

 

My yellow, savory evenings are limpid with trust.

To die like the day does –

More and more color then stardust….

My body grinding its gears

like a Wednesday jealous of Friday.

A Love Story in Math

7 is in love with 0.

0 is lovely,

has the DNA for heaven and Earth

and whatever the Hell my old job was.

7 is proud and strong and knows he is luckier than 6

or his ex girlfriend 8.

But he roams into the rafters of primacy,

of sharp eyed division,

and the comfort of 0 –

the way she gives of herself

and doesn’t exist,

is missed by him,

who can see only her perfection on the page

her gift for making others greater.

But beneath the tired eyes of mathematics

.000001 is also in love with her,

and is much more in reach

and glad to be.

The Dream is Dead

Ok, so the dream is dead,

or not dead really,

but dying

under this beautiful house that loves me,

with her feet sticking out of the crawl space.

She was from the East,

and wanted to go further,

to every palace and battleground in Europe,

to be hunted by crocodiles and lions in Africa,

to waddle with penguins in Antarctica.

 

So what if things did not go as planned,

if the mice cry in their nests?

Who cares as long as the man is good,

the mind has its medicine?

And, anyway, someone else will have the chance

to slurp up the Earth’s beauty,

when Terra Firma

is older and even more graceful;

she will have my place when she is older

and more graceful.