I have always been bad at drawing trees
I start with a limb, long and lean
If the pen is fine it will find the grain
the ink runs thin for the edge of the page
The leaves I leave off, but imagine there -
silken hundreds sifting the air.
And this is how I draw you
weakly, as if it's you who's barely there.
2, 13, 11
A Thorn Child
Thank you I am not
instead of Take what I am
the seed of me lances
deeper into your skin
protected from the fall
from the path you've softened
for me
Blistered in you
I pretend communion
without being
anything but another
way for God to suffer.
Feb 27, 11
instead of Take what I am
the seed of me lances
deeper into your skin
protected from the fall
from the path you've softened
for me
Blistered in you
I pretend communion
without being
anything but another
way for God to suffer.
Feb 27, 11
The Weight of Only Daily Bread
The daily bread
you offer cold
I've taken over and over until
I barely taste it
Heavy with pride
I'm unable to lift
your body to mine
and your thin blood
would run my veins dry
There's little to be said between us
The host comes poor
"I have been eager."
The guest comes full
"I have not."
So that the little
that you offer cold
remains bread not life.
2, 27, 11
you offer cold
I've taken over and over until
I barely taste it
Heavy with pride
I'm unable to lift
your body to mine
and your thin blood
would run my veins dry
There's little to be said between us
The host comes poor
"I have been eager."
The guest comes full
"I have not."
So that the little
that you offer cold
remains bread not life.
2, 27, 11
Another Poem for Bachelard
The spaces that invade
that fill and receive
their fill
that warm and chill
fine lines mapped already
down our necks and arms
the spaces that remain
and become less than
walls, more than memory
whittled to a window
filled with lamplight
2, 22, 11
that fill and receive
their fill
that warm and chill
fine lines mapped already
down our necks and arms
the spaces that remain
and become less than
walls, more than memory
whittled to a window
filled with lamplight
2, 22, 11
Ohio Turnpike
Ohio turnpike,
coiling as if to slide
me down your seashell ear
as if to hear my
confessions in a cloister
and finally taking what you can
from my many padded pockets
lower me down your throat
to see what can be made
of me there
the acoustics of my emptier heart
against yours.
2, 21, 11
coiling as if to slide
me down your seashell ear
as if to hear my
confessions in a cloister
and finally taking what you can
from my many padded pockets
lower me down your throat
to see what can be made
of me there
the acoustics of my emptier heart
against yours.
2, 21, 11
Lamp Bones
I shall see your bones ahead
as they light your way into the dark
I shall find them warmer than the skin
I shall see your bones
as lamps in a window
And I shall find them
under the moths that curtain it
Our bodies have never been important
our eyes wander in their wordsoaked dreams
preferring blind walks
perfecting still thoughts.
2, 21, 11
as they light your way into the dark
I shall find them warmer than the skin
I shall see your bones
as lamps in a window
And I shall find them
under the moths that curtain it
Our bodies have never been important
our eyes wander in their wordsoaked dreams
preferring blind walks
perfecting still thoughts.
2, 21, 11
Reverie
Never falling asleep
only waking in an ever other room
or behind again another curtain
as the woods break into a field
and a door opens on a hallway
with the same fears
the same days in nightly translations
2, 21, 11
only waking in an ever other room
or behind again another curtain
as the woods break into a field
and a door opens on a hallway
with the same fears
the same days in nightly translations
2, 21, 11
The Ninety-Nine
On my first try
I crossed the temple steps like water
and never sank
and never wondered
where my hundredth step might fall
Now starting at the start again
I've counted the risers too carefully
and found the hundredth missing
and sank before I asked to start
and wondered if they were all false
How can I make it up the temple steps again
now I've lost the memory to walk?
2, 20, 11
I crossed the temple steps like water
and never sank
and never wondered
where my hundredth step might fall
Now starting at the start again
I've counted the risers too carefully
and found the hundredth missing
and sank before I asked to start
and wondered if they were all false
How can I make it up the temple steps again
now I've lost the memory to walk?
2, 20, 11
The One Coming
I'm the one coming with the empty cage
peddling what I have left
as I go
I'm the one, come time for spring,
will be a shadow down the out of town road
I'm the one who charades
love to you, lacking fluency in any language
I'm the one not lost on you
and kept there when I've lost all else
I'm the one coming for you
coming for me
And I'll be the one leaving after all
taking your happy sad birds along.
Feb 18, 11
peddling what I have left
as I go
I'm the one, come time for spring,
will be a shadow down the out of town road
I'm the one who charades
love to you, lacking fluency in any language
I'm the one not lost on you
and kept there when I've lost all else
I'm the one coming for you
coming for me
And I'll be the one leaving after all
taking your happy sad birds along.
Feb 18, 11
Birds Have Returned
Birds have returned
pulling early sunrise sleds
and our ears before we're ready
Calling and recalling
this is it, you barely have to wait
and at their suggestion
our skin is already prickling in the might-be air
We're already back to our summer songs
we can already feel the sand in our hair
and the dirt in our hands
and the places we've not yet been
they all come invading our cold-hearted indoors
as soon as the birds have returned.
Feb 17, 11
pulling early sunrise sleds
and our ears before we're ready
Calling and recalling
this is it, you barely have to wait
and at their suggestion
our skin is already prickling in the might-be air
We're already back to our summer songs
we can already feel the sand in our hair
and the dirt in our hands
and the places we've not yet been
they all come invading our cold-hearted indoors
as soon as the birds have returned.
Feb 17, 11
Dog Ears
I am not kind
pages curl in on themselves
until the brittle margins
finally turn on the written word
and whether it holds your name or not
and whether it is typed or handwritten
these lines and everything in between
will be ground and left
in useless relation to one another
if I were, I would not fold in on you so.
feb 14, 2011
pages curl in on themselves
until the brittle margins
finally turn on the written word
and whether it holds your name or not
and whether it is typed or handwritten
these lines and everything in between
will be ground and left
in useless relation to one another
if I were, I would not fold in on you so.
feb 14, 2011
Exchanging Breath
What are you smelling on my breath?
the trust I rely on, a daily prescription
the solitude water I pour over leaves
of love of friendship of darkness walks
the stalks I chewed just checking
if they were anything I could use?
you smell where my days have been
and what is now inside contributing
do you smell the empty space on my tongue
reserved for the taste I have not found?
feb 13, 2011
the trust I rely on, a daily prescription
the solitude water I pour over leaves
of love of friendship of darkness walks
the stalks I chewed just checking
if they were anything I could use?
you smell where my days have been
and what is now inside contributing
do you smell the empty space on my tongue
reserved for the taste I have not found?
feb 13, 2011
One Night Long Morning
The boy was crossing the road, just that
at the foot of the exhilaration hill
just in view of the sliding glass door
just between the private trees
on the motorbike just given him
just for being a boy
The man was not awake
he had been at trying too long
the night long
and the world ached in his cheekbones
he rubbed the length of them
thought of his wife
and missed the part where she woke up
she was always awake
And from there afterwards
nobody could look at the road
but found themselves locking the sliding glass door
found the trees growing closer until they closed
The man found that
the part where his wife woke in the morning
or not, it did not matter
because he could no longer bear
to be awake to watch
Feb 10, 2011
at the foot of the exhilaration hill
just in view of the sliding glass door
just between the private trees
on the motorbike just given him
just for being a boy
The man was not awake
he had been at trying too long
the night long
and the world ached in his cheekbones
he rubbed the length of them
thought of his wife
and missed the part where she woke up
she was always awake
And from there afterwards
nobody could look at the road
but found themselves locking the sliding glass door
found the trees growing closer until they closed
The man found that
the part where his wife woke in the morning
or not, it did not matter
because he could no longer bear
to be awake to watch
Feb 10, 2011
Resin
The resin of this heartbeat
a glos heavier than the heart itself
the time is kept in long distances
that collapse inward
and rather than preserving the youngwood
this heartbeat draws out saps thought dead
leaving the heart hollower
and too hallowed to be kept company.
feb 10, 2011
a glos heavier than the heart itself
the time is kept in long distances
that collapse inward
and rather than preserving the youngwood
this heartbeat draws out saps thought dead
leaving the heart hollower
and too hallowed to be kept company.
feb 10, 2011
How To Read
Now you ask of me honesty
and where do I find it? I learned
how to read before the others
and I learned later
how to tell the details back
of unreal people and their lives,
of me and mine.
where can I find it? But in your
eyes, I'm looking before the others
that's how I learned to read
there will be something there worth
telling back to you and won't you
take it for me and mine
the details I lifted?'
Feb 10, 2011
and where do I find it? I learned
how to read before the others
and I learned later
how to tell the details back
of unreal people and their lives,
of me and mine.
where can I find it? But in your
eyes, I'm looking before the others
that's how I learned to read
there will be something there worth
telling back to you and won't you
take it for me and mine
the details I lifted?'
Feb 10, 2011
Hair Washing Night
recently she has not
washed out the days
with one night but lets settle
what sifts through the light
a sieve unreliable, too coarse
to catch the secrets flocking by
her hair begins to smell of it
and soon her skin
until without knowing why
someone wants to know how she's been
and she is
gone from the land of answering.
feb 8, 2011
washed out the days
with one night but lets settle
what sifts through the light
a sieve unreliable, too coarse
to catch the secrets flocking by
her hair begins to smell of it
and soon her skin
until without knowing why
someone wants to know how she's been
and she is
gone from the land of answering.
feb 8, 2011
The Shape I Take
I've found it finally
what it is of you
that takes of me
the baby lines of my face
and leftover birthmarks
blur into shadow of furniture
And when I notice, You know I do
I am caught on corners
the angles that cut out a face from midair
where there was nothing to know before
Your hairline goes this way
while your shoulderblade that
a chin is falling toward me
but the heel is turning back.
And why fall upon me,
holding up but
also giving up
the strength you've come for?
feb 8, 2011
what it is of you
that takes of me
the baby lines of my face
and leftover birthmarks
blur into shadow of furniture
And when I notice, You know I do
I am caught on corners
the angles that cut out a face from midair
where there was nothing to know before
Your hairline goes this way
while your shoulderblade that
a chin is falling toward me
but the heel is turning back.
And why fall upon me,
holding up but
also giving up
the strength you've come for?
feb 8, 2011
The Origins of Sight
An iris glowing sky
sprawls husked and separated
from its chaff the human eye
the center snuffed to ashes
In a field of atmosphere
our breath sends up its effort
but lifts us no where nearer
our origins of sight
feb 8, 2011
sprawls husked and separated
from its chaff the human eye
the center snuffed to ashes
In a field of atmosphere
our breath sends up its effort
but lifts us no where nearer
our origins of sight
feb 8, 2011
Jasmine Tea
The blue lotus flame is under the teapot
but the dawn is already steeping,
lighting its jasmine filaments
behind the penumbra of the earth
The water pours thickly,
slowly to the time of that dawn
holding its intentions back from the light.
Feb 1, 2011
but the dawn is already steeping,
lighting its jasmine filaments
behind the penumbra of the earth
The water pours thickly,
slowly to the time of that dawn
holding its intentions back from the light.
Feb 1, 2011
Before What's Coming
In the snow the train echo tunnels
or maybe it's what's coming
or maybe it's your inner ear
troubling you again.
In the leftover lamplight the whites
of dog eyes brighten wild
or maybe she smells what's coming
or maybe she's just a morning dog.
In the hours before what's coming
the neighbors catch themselves preparing
losing faith in their trundling trains
their city on its elevated track
sounds tragic in its tomorrow humming.
Feb 1, 2011
or maybe it's what's coming
or maybe it's your inner ear
troubling you again.
In the leftover lamplight the whites
of dog eyes brighten wild
or maybe she smells what's coming
or maybe she's just a morning dog.
In the hours before what's coming
the neighbors catch themselves preparing
losing faith in their trundling trains
their city on its elevated track
sounds tragic in its tomorrow humming.
Feb 1, 2011
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