A highway with a necklace of beer glass.
I too am hemmed in by glass,
By broken mirrors and dashed bottles of wine and my second sight glasses a finished suicide.
Trucks come so bright,
And taxi drivers look with pity
As I walk miles in the snow without gloves,
Trying to get my new space heater home and turned on.
Then a man quietly pulls up next to me
And offers a ride.
His taxi is a minivan and I see his meter up front.
I told him thank you, but I have no money.
He said he wanted to help. No charge.
That is what we mean when we say love your neighbor.
Tag: creative writing
Green
In the morning there was green,
A cool, whispering green infecting the spruce and air.
Within the covetous morning
They harbor the dark –
The spruce and air in collaboration with
More green than I can understand.
My sight is green like the stem of a flower
Used to promote something more interesting.
Green is what I see alone in the canals
That swerve my needs.
Yet I dislike al l but the brightest, loudest of greens
Because they remind me of my perfect noon.
WIP
My needs and desires grow
Like kudzu on you
Taking them from me is not stealing,
A label that disposes of bloodletting
To quiet its memories of such a beautiful heart.
You better not see it.
Nice need.
Silent seed.
Fire. Then Water.
The forest clutches
stolen fire
while lightning loses her identity.
We hold onto bad things
and are leveled like
post-tsunami water.
In the forest,
trees in pain –
the communication between
leaf and air severed.
When the grasses and branches
have burned,
the forest repents.
And then the falling
of fallen water.
Secret Sea
On the gold prairie,
silver competes
with the dew.
Grass saws air
clean enough for surgery.
Somewhere below the graves,
a sea of oil lapping against earth.
What will happen
when the men with
long claws and downward hunger
stumble on this peculiar paradise?
Dark Blue World
Dark blue world with
a turquoise brooch,
lend me cerulean serenity,
cobalt coal.
In a grunge sweat I awake
to my graying life,
see my watery windows blink,
your image like an oil painting,
then a satisfied sea,
next a poison frog.
Each blink my view of you morphs,
though your honorable navy
shades swear you have never changed.
You glide beyond the reach
of my clock,
ticking away as it tends
to do while the universe is unreachable.
In the vastness of your blue,
in your sapphire essence,
chewy caramel change is king.
9,19,29
Today I am 9, 19, 29.
I look out my window to the used days,
see saw toothed predators
hunting my small, oblivious
head in the long grass.
I am suffocated by the
fire and brimstone perfume
of my own being
as I tiptoe back and
forth between heaven and
hell each day.
I long to let my hair
cascade down my back,
to strip naked in the
unblinking square
and ask the strange things
with six rows of teeth
to take my shame from me
like an unwanted cloak.
Yesterday at dinner,
I was a vulture vivisecting
a yellow canvas,
my talons raw as milk.
Beautiful Machine
I am binary,
a code with so many zeroes,
and you are the one.
You have a thick, plush
user interface.
Use me for your gossamer
sweat purposes.
If you rewrite me,
make me a file.
Organize your unchained
thinking of me.
You are a prodigy of design,
pure energy in an age
of tarnished sleep.
Rifle through me,
incorporate whatever
spherical zeroes will make
you whole,
though you lack nothing,
transmit a rain-laced joy
like a virus.
Untitled
Over my shoulder,
some ubiquitous business
cashing in on my impoverished back.
I am clay,
am a starter culture
for a world of salted rain,
with a rind of potpourri.
From my private beach,
a bliss unfolding in the midst of absence
a pleasure exchange
a hard market
a refreshing barter.
A meaningful trade.
My Mode of Living
I’m free of rain.
I show my picture to the blank mirror.
I was not busy in my shiny days
and now I see
clouds of apologies ahead,
burning bronze.
My shape shifting selfishness
Folded into a skin box,
Origami.
My life was born for a while,
between sameness and joy.
Ten times I memorize myself,
candy candle
I have to light,
To guide kaleidoscope perception
Back home to me.
Interdependence is difficult and soft,
ad infinitum.
Miniature Moon 