The simple grave
of the rain.
The driving wind
makes tracks through parched prairie.
The leanest rabbit escapes the warren.
Teeth marks, bone, thin hair.
Beyond the metronomic society
nourishing sustenance.
This field is sacred and untouched
by the rushing realism of
corporeal men.
Through the bladed brown,
The cottontail prances,
grateful and alone.
On Thursday, Craig surprised us with a trip to Royal Gorge Park. The gorge was gorgeous! At the bottom you could see the ribbon of the river running through it. Angelica got to play on the playground and ride the carousel. Craig rose across the gorge in the sky gondola. And I went ziplining across!
Dead now, I move to the grass
and develop a conscience like film.
Two somewhat different takes on the same set up.
Monday, September 3, 2012
In the cemetery
trapped sin and simplicity
tinged with regret.
Under beds,
bruised bits of life.
I have called the wind
on my trite telephone
to speak with my lover in
the vintage language of distance.
The comic book store has
Only tragic books left.
One hero is asphyxiating for fun.
Another scrubs dishes in rum.
Beasts –
blue built and bundled,
and bridled brides.
Brutes weaving wispy webs.
My good mental conferences expel
content behind two leaky blue bags.
My tongue is holy and broken.
Fields behind me
Shy away.
My bracelets are sharp for them.
The coloring is off here, but for me at least that gives an interesting and dreamlike feel. And truthfully the color wasn’t very good and either of the original photographs, so that didn’t help matters.
Miniature Moon 