After metamorphosis –
thought,
projected project,
my tongue at the door.
After the renewal of my skin,
Vows of ivory.
All thoughtful ideas are
material things.
Lines construct wishes
That let you down face to face.
Category: poetry
Old Friend
Somewhere in the identified town,
an old friend who does not tire out
lights the lamp.
It’s amazing what forms he takes
when he is alone.
Indivisible shape of personal election
and sweltering affiliation.
Loyalty of nationality,
shown by unlimited birth.
Women and infants like
oil and flame.
Surrounded by the neighbors,
He lives the life he has been given,
cleaning the cleanest of plants.
From One to Another
Small as a pond,
You are bordered by mossy velvet.
You act like me.
Rivers do not
associate with women.
First I was a fish.
Then I was provided with womanhood.
The oars on the canoe
Love one another in Morse code.
I’ll walk under the hollow water.
My understanding of
beauty and all that you can do
flourishes like kelp,
always below the surface.
The Ruby
I build a home against the
sure bet of his chest.
He goes down in me
in search of the ruby.
I am a statement of
conjecture and figure.
It’s a romantic romance,
wearing every red color except red.
At the Edge of the Wilderness
Abuse me.
There is more of me to leave.
Like cinders in the forest.
I cleave to my fundamental heat.
Delete me inside.
Too much of me
and you’ll need water to hold.
His Music
He is a place
Of marble and speed.
He writes me notes
That I hear.
His story is one of unearthing,
of a sun making casualties of snow.
Over the arc,
absolute shape –
my calves,
finish lines.
His novel.
You will find me alone
next month,
calling music my own.
Design
Women’s illegal tender-
tenderness toward even the kudzu.
If he cancels the length and breadth
of my body tonight,
I will float above him like air from the fan.
Recreation fills me
with finger and tongue.
I am designed for it.
Human
Humanity is crouched
beneath the table
where my glass leaves
a ring.
Dust is wedded to success.
In the humanness that
roams the rooms –
a forgettable act of kindness
in skivvies.
My inner warden
patrols beneath my skin.
Lowly instinct,
leave your hiding!
Your enemies have finished counting,
And have hung your better
Natures from the doorframe
with a steel cable.
I remember the elevator it
Came from,
Dipping the car
Up and down from the bottom
Of the hospital to the top
Like ladle to bowl.
Lemons in the kitchen
are twisted.
The dishwasher is broken,
But the knives have been
Sharpened on teeth.
Out from under the furniture
Comes my neighbor’s
Selfishness and my rage.
I finish my soda.
This should be good.
Down
The down in your quilt
Reminds me of the
usefulness of everything,
even those who lose.
In the smoke of the
gun blast I saw Gabriel
lay down his sword and pray.
The bird fell professionally.
The next day rolled over
to find you warm
beneath the down.
Telemarketers
I stand in the sweaty afternoon
with my plucky face bared
to inconsiderate air.
I played cymbals until sound
quit without notice.
Even the waves beat the
rocks noiselessly.
I am leaking from my skin,
Watering the grass.
Marketers breathe into their telephones,
into territories of love and laundry.
into the most private
biomes of gratitude and violence.
Can I buy an antibiotic
for the infection in my thoughts?
Mornings are mundane.
Behind me,
The soundless ill intent
of summer.
Above,
the sun counting the life that
slips from me in grams.
Miniature Moon 