Problems With Both

align skirt seams
with hips
always shifting
in and out of place
making small tears
under
skin and silk slips
under linen lines
checking hands on hips
in case

jul 7, 2011

Long Time Hurt

Things that were once ordinary
the spare room
the dark
the pitched singing
slip diving through it
the looking face who hadn't
yet shown up on life
or vice versa
hardly
the hard packed loneliness
that lead into
the open field next door
holding me up long enough
to run
All these things, all such
are left outdoors
there until ruined

jul 8, 2011

Public Transportation

For so much pride
I'd take a bus in the wrong direction
just to be moved
I smell the days pass and pass
stay lost just to stay
and use another mouth
your mouth
to breathe just to keep you

The trains hush
all that
and wind away to
this city my pride
panics through

jul 8, 2011

An Apology

dreamed and dreamed
out our apologies
fought in dreams
dreams for years
how dreams year
year year howl
how long dreams host
hurt by hurt then
a night a dream
an ambiguity a doubt
beasts not of monsters
a question of intentions
and later much later still
we were already dead
it was easier
to apologize from the shade
without knowing one another
anymore

jul 7, 2011

What You Will

By now you know
that leaving before you're left
makes little difference
to the bones you break
in order to take yourself
and leave the gifts you already gave

There are no limits
to of what your hands are willing
to empty
to others, fill up
others with other
than you, but
the lay of hand on hand
solders bodies, by now
you should know that

The limits of your self
you sieve from those gifts
show only in, bind only in
broken word, by now
you should know
you give your word by living
by breathing, ragged or deep
by touching the back of another hand
with the back your own

These things are not fair
you did not know
life was storm and teeth
but by now
you are finding it so
so invisible horizon you fear
crowding the indifferent world
against your limbs
the wide skies that would deliver
you over
wait for what you will

jul 7, 2011

In the Listen

he smelled of a river
which one i don't
and will not know
his hands worked into
by the world
gnarled just as
a river does
over its deep heartbeaten rocks
which one you know
there's no way
for me to know
his voice rolled undercurrent
over and under and around
the space the generation
of space i barely exist in
i barely know of
he told me of the world
in rivers through a beard
that ran and fell
naturally from his face
to his chest
under his hands
gentle enough
to be allowed its course
a course which
i don't, i never will, know

jul 7, 2011

real birds

i have no guts
or even honor
i make sore muscles
in keeping away
the lake birds dive
and cry
and snatch at lifts
they are only real birds
when in their black bodies
again each morning
before the sun
black priests
before our eyes
the blotted bodies
of real birds
in cuts of flight.


jul 4, 11

Plans

The cracks in the ceiling
in the walls
run me down
find me out
continue on
tracing my silences.

They say:
you hurt, you are not good 
in the morning
you buckle under
the pointless roof
and your pointless head 
and cry into peeled paint
perfect wrists in felt weight
but your deep dug bed
is turning, will turn you
out to me
the cracks in the walls
the ceiling
and the plans I have for you are made. 

jul 4, 11

Sound in the Bones

They're in your heart
in the bones of your chest
the sounds you don't
know how to make
what to do with
but kneel
but shout back
but wonder what, who
sent that echo
eternally out
forever in
canyon long
if only behind the bones
of your tiny woman heart

jul 3, 11

Strapped

The sun strapped
across my shoulders
and undone memory
I avoided that city
and its telling history
stories of where been
of what changed
and longed for
waking to the light weight day
waking nothing under
sun strapped skin.

jul 1, 11

The Arrangement

Despite the music
the two danced to something
slower other
that bent between them
in close quarters
the kind of arrangement
that misles hair
breaks arms open
and cracked mouths part
the kind that leaves
rubble of the space
once made.

jul 1, 11

a little crying

it should not hurt
so to talk like this
to breathe in the miles
and miles and miles
and nothing miles
between our houses
when they should be
an arms length apart
and that only
and nothing more but
thresholds and dreams and nights
and bread between us
this is a nothing saying poem
it is a shaken little thing
a pitiful unweaned
still warm-bodied
holding itself poem

jul 2

Open Window Hands

open window hands
the doves go out, return
mourn the dawn
call us to our prayers
back to a god we limped from,
holding close the injuries
still unable to say
from where they fell
so to the vacant broken mouth
open window hands
send doves, go out, return
fill with mourning

jun 24, 2011

Dream Rot

disappointed i expected --
but what a one from
without the city, from without
the world could do
with only twine around
her earthen, half filled
notes, half felt breaks --
what a one who knew
so few names
but the few she only assumed
and cast about into, bait
for clearer bodies, lesser
smaller in their breath in their rage
for even one dream
enough small things filled her heavy
she felt deep --
with her one expectation wrappered, handled
as if a secret, as if hidden
it might become its own insides
but disappointed in the shade
of many fecund dreams of others
and many days grown dark
over
the grave cavern palms
under
receiving arms
the thickness pressing them away
the wetness the seep the drain
depressing rot into the seed
the ordinary way and mean


Jun 24, 2011

Little Thief

little thieves
with broken hips
only fill their hands
and not their pockets
they weave in drunken
talk in foreign
sit in silent
little spaces
but all i sometimes
think about
is half beaten
blood scraped
naked
taken for it all
happy through the vacant
bars between my teeth
between my eyesight
between my intellection
of what small talk
distracted me subtracted
the little thief
filling hands, mouth, pockets,
all
with my turned out collection

Jun 23, 2011

Shoulder Blades, Vertebrae

The sand between my shoulder blades
between my vertebrae
chorusing there
in skin tones
I won't know or care
and when the sand is all that's left
it will decide between
the sheets, my skin, the morning
I predict
how little I'll be shaking out
and the shape still making out
in skin tones
between my shoulder blades
stuck between the vertebrae

June 18, 2011

Serifs

Learn to out louder,
learn to turn up your heart
the whisper fist swinging at me
still clinging to its beat.
Learn to roll your tongue
on the rrrrr's of that dream,
the serifs trailing running into me
speechless as called for.
You'll know your heart broken
when it splays open handed,
a thunder clap on an empty shore.
Recognize its last breaths, its sore chambers
and give eulogy to the sound it spent
itself making, make a small sound in memory
a from the hollow sound,
a back of the throat rrrrr,
that translates infinitely
webbed into all made memory.

June 18, 2011

Waste

waste plans and hands
and cleaned dried time
waste tied bouquets
and strings and strings of beads
of words of sighs of mostly
glory vain and straining
through and through long
eyelash shadows against
long rooted afternoons
waste good dreams on
laughter and roomfuls of
fright holding off holding back
always waste wait wait wait
wait here until its safe

June 18, 2011

Gore

the night sky leans into me
all day battered through with arguments
and love underneath, sore but proud
what will tomorrow take
and what are we ready to lose
there is no question of willing
in the noise of the looters' scrabble
those questions flew
lay us down in close quarters
to save something for tomorrow
the weaponry the space
to pull or invade or ignore
will wait for us to wake and rise
to shake ourselves from one another
to change our minds about the night we spent
and run the day bluntly through again

june 1, 11

Half and Half Made Up

all frantic to
tell you where
and not how come
i can't
you'll fill in the blanks
then and gone (when)
we kept it simple
as easy as it was
your eyebrows fall in together
my smile does as much 
as my boots do ring
in line line line

of course all paper writes
better than our hands
in our palms
our own strangers
impatient with these men
with my teeth
i'll tell you
that i took the note
i had left for you and
had it made into a pitcher
to pour black water from
as my hand
casts a shadow over the words
i scratched in hand
all into the dark
and sort it out
late
half and half made up
made believe mostly
skimmed in blue veins

counting by trains
and their stops
i lay my head back
how can i
be your only
can you be mine?
my heart fades under
lights of late
street signs
the train pulls out
like (it knows)
like the past

you won't get to speak
til next time
she teach me
i teach you
you teach me
to say line line line
you dance
from your knees (up)
at the end of the night
whenever
we find it
it's what's left
in my hands and
not yours
that we're left with
the knees fall out
from under
I slouch to you
shallow in my
swung from the hip
suggestion

just drunk enough
to know
you're jack
i'm gin
tuck in our chins
to laugh hard
and in our knees
to weep
me all numb in your stun

aside
i need to be
a good deal drunker an this
a good deal holier

it's late
i grew eyes
i held so still
what do we do with
the sweat under our shirts
our skirts
sleep dance on
straighten your back
to pass me in the doorway
and don't let me catch you
in waiting again
i can see your cheekbones
you weren't for me

aside
summer all
can't last that long
can it last that long
summer bawls
summer ah

the proof
is in just a stain
a bruise i
re-enact
a breath i
re-intake
my excuses are
boots on the wood
the solemn only sound
of a late coming spring

i get behind all i can
dance to
the musicians tune
we fray
you do the violence
i'll do harmony
i put you
but i don't see you
like i seen you
in a man's bed
half there and gettin so
you have to
you leave too
much time for
the lending

i can't believe and be
my heart and its
relentlessness
double up
what i have is
prettier than what
you say 'sing'

aside
it'll take a year
to believe it all.

don't be ashamed of
afraid of the things
behind your ears

may 27th, 2011

Measures Taken

there are
things
left to give you
held and handled
in their waiting
filled and then
emptied filled again
days and weeks also
respect the measures
taken here
standing watch
keeping the time
in hand
for your sake
not mine
what comfort
carpets the house
like waiting
like counting
long enough
it's been long enough

june 12, 2011

Rendered

Loosening rooms
as you walk through
a look laces up your back.
Not careless but aware only
of yourself unknown and lonely
of only your lack.
Sense nothing there behind you
all the sensations of your wake loom
and wind and wrack
What you so carefully decide against.
sparing only residual recompense
the room helpless, tender, at your back.

May 13, 2011

Gently Goes

gently goes
the winter talk
and lately steps
barely fall
but for the boots
long worn down
winter barely
wrapped around
shoulders thin
and guarding sound
from choices kept
in bone and skin
until delivered
into hands
when new found talk
calls for them.


may 14, 2011

With Looks

i fall in love with looks
with the nothing said look
with the "maybe"
      "you know"
           "i won't"
            look.
never was there a stranger
who looked across
to another
but the two
fell in between
and in love.

may 11, 2011

Exchange

sand piled
wrist cool
under and turned
over sliding
against mine
warm exchange
courtesy and
a coursing need
to feign familiar
and stay
long into
the wander roar
then sleeping
idle on
all let out
now that there's
no need
for armour

may 10, 2011

Perch

again, what if
you are there
but its not where everyone thought
and you are
but not who everyone said
i love you as a child loves another
not expecting, but then, knowing
they will not ever be children
not ever the same
and someday, maybe
one will not recognize the other
or not find her in the place she last was
still in the end, or whatever it will be
their hearts are shorn
with found love for the new one
changed irremediably
but the same heart that
had fallen from its child's perch

may 10, 2011

That Is All The Reason For Its Telling

dreams do not lie
it is written
in a book in the sun
they are all underbelly
all dark heart
at the center of the lightest joy
a stone to stumble by
require by
wait and see by
no lamp or window
but just a dark dog
a dark mean
a dark call
to see what can
be made of even this.

may 10, 2011

Circulation

the songs i listened to then
in your room
that you listened to
wrapped a thousand times around
my memory until the blood beyond
that room caught at the door
the blood beyond
that window view doubled back
leaving us alone together
with you i was always alone
you might've known if I
could've sent my blood through

may 9, 2011

It's Not Spring

it's not the streets
but what's underneath
and the houses say
little but what careens
behind them that's
a sound endearing
it's not the nesting strangers
but that they meet
in open doors and it's not
the trees new deckled
but the bare memory
it may be the wet gate
but more its easy swing
the night is not a time
but a place
safe to pass unseen.

may 5, 2011

When Your Life is Your Friend

when your life is your friend
when it doesn't steal every little love
from you, or make you ask like a leper
for the days it holds
when it returns your affection
in verse or warm mouthed words,
that is the life you heard
was obvious and waiting.
why have you had to corner it here
weaving your desire into a cage
so you can find your life when ever
you like, where you left it,
pet it and call it ridiculous names.
you thought that making it comfortable
would make it stay
feeding it sweets
would win it to you.
why then are you both unhappy strangers
(or worse) plotting escapes from the other

May 3, 2011

Easter Need

the Words are not enough
after so long
they still shy from my touch
same as the dust you drew into your lungs and out
and its patterns working up your calves
they mean -
i know i've heard this somewhere -
something
but not to me
i'd like to know you now
as you are - not of us
but drawing us into your lungs and out
rewarding water with wine
and dust with endless wind
where do i meet you when
you do not go or come
is this wide-eyed what-if
foolishness and faithlessness
is faith, in the end, no need to believe
but to breathe dust and be?

april 22, 2011

Neverwarm

In the city where
the insurance hoarders sing
to their headphones from the curb
where the Korean grandmothers sit pristine
in their lipstick and perms
where Phobia! is inked
into bus seats like a swear
where the days give no warning
or sign of warming.

Feb 18, 2011

Crushed to Ash

It stays pressed between roots
it stays pressed deep in clouds
it stays in my own old shoes
and waits
for a bellyup day
for a telling face
for something, anything, to say
It stays pressed in my spine
it stays pressed into corners
it stays in my old unkempt habits
and dreams
for messenger waves
for equinox dates
for dreams to pray
a poorly lit flame
a neglected space
that but for shame
would be crushed
to ash between hands

apr 21, 2011

The Dream Before the Basement

Before that
I had gone to the nation of new
where the roads which way were piles
shambled and on the rise
I never thought of my bare feet
only combed the streetside
full of steam and vendor boil
some still alive and on display for it
hawking the wrong
i ate and ate
mostly still, long still, mouthfuls
But my feet and nails shined soft
began to hamper at the wrong
began to think of a future
among it all
I dropped the dish in hand
and hurried to the cart on the threshold hill
with already clotted peasant shoes
bought a pair lined black and too hot

apr 16 2011

Basement

acting, of course
always a version
only it doesn't finally pull the time
inside out, like everything else in here
in a dream i went
down and down continued
as many times as I could think the word without forgetting
where i went and was
always only after
i had swung the last cage slat into a stair
when the bottom came
there was sunlight, understood
and extended family
the indoors of a childhood
but the faces, every
had been pulled inside
even new babies
every one so proud of the resemblance
and then i remembered
sunlight too late
the slats were for a cage again
i had to look into their pits
and call them faces
i had to look at the basement light
and call it understood

apr 16, 2011

The Sand In My Shoes

i left the sand in my shoes
and my pride
in the tomb dug by lake water and sky
we would have liked to shake it by the bars
but for who might hear
and meet our eyes
fear gravity working its way
up our legs
we went to our knees
and maybe should have gone upon them
the night exhausted itself in our arms
i left room in my mouth
and the cold standing in for sentences
i left my wracked body intact
a prayer to unmeasured time
and i think that you must have
left much to say

april 14, 2011

Last Lines

Every last line strikes me like an open hand
stinging the same as that first
and last time my mother slapped
me - a zero second -
a pulse that wandered from the fold.
Only as the wind oscillates
mouth to lungs does memory return
marching, warming the intentional shape
across my face.

april 11, 2011

Into Grief

finally breath
         out candle
      pocked laughter
cracking in two
into grief
trying opposites
trying peace
try to piece
        one tear to another
      the tied sheets
slung over sills
swing relieved
of their escapee
      the horror of
      not breathing
    shrieks down the street
away laughing away
finally free.

april 11, 2011

To Get It Down

eating silk
letting the cups dirty
but her legs shaved
the heartbreak song
had been so inappropriate then
yet it moved
and now
it had probably been the end
all along
eating silk
all that's left
the cups season
she swallows and swallows
to get it down
her legs lie for no one
for weeks there was no hunger
and now
it had been coming to an end
all along


april 11, 2011

An Arkansan

She'll be the one who stays
who watches the hem haw sky
turn an unusual blue
who upturns the tried true hedges
to stir up the scandal of dirt and underbellies
who lets her life out in the sleeptalk of children
into a local smoke
familiar above the trees
to the flaming sky -
She'll be the one there
seeing the unseen and naming it forgotten things
      we scatter in lieu of travel, of inquiry and hunt
      she digs and plants and burns piles
            under her nose
      we lose our senses
            while hers grow into one another.

apr 9, 11

Lie Like a Child

I lied about tomorrow
I always do
I pack time in my palms
into stones
tell you how they skip
over taut water.
I lied about knowing Jesus
I always do
I don't know how to
fortify the water's surface
and saunter to you.
I lied like a child
I always do
I pack images together in my palms
into a house
forgetting to leave
gaps in the story, a door to get in.
I stand outside you.

apr 10, 11

a little will

if i don't have to love you
i'd rather not
but if i do
i will -
know that-
you won't need to ask
i've become good at
fighting hard for little ground

apr 10, 11

Undecided

We touch undecidedly
what we want
may lie just under the skin
rising or dying
or running
losing it from limbs
filling smaller courts
holding out judgement there
until we can tell
up under our tracing fingers
what it is we want


apr 10, 11

Ground Cover

There is a path in Beijing
of course there are many
but there is one worn by me
and left there
does it wave after me
or lie still
ground covered, but not recovered by me
until my shallow path is undergone
by a few days remembered but disappeared


apr 8, 11

But By Me

You know the way
        and the way knows you
        know nothing
you are the way
and the way
        with purpose loses you
        no good shepherd
             except that
when you lose the way
you have found something
or if the way loses you
        never by coincidence
it has led you still
        somewhere
But the third and also constant
         companion is Another
Their way is not your way
          And,
          of course, it is



"I am the way, the truth, and the life. 
No one comes to the father but by me"


apr 8, 11

Power Lines

How a city
can make you feel warmed
as if the torsos caked around you
are meant to be
are loved ones and familiar
the million look-away eyes
are thinking of you
and how nice it is
to hum here together
as if your songs were in tune
or the shape of the throat
they clamber up
as if the stairs and streets,
the tunnels through daylight
were worn lanes with  our names
in the bark, in the pavement
and as if the city were not
just twisted lines of strangers and ghosts.

apr 7, 11

Still No Oracle

We watch for signs
in birds of flight
and the close breath of first blooms
we listen to the winter withered vines
and the shingles' clay tide
still no oracle
she holds my hand
like a small, hurt creature
making all the future faith
worth learning

apr 8, 11

Kite Hearts

Through the night I've been
gathering the day
in your wake these crowds bizarre
their walls of not-you faces
heave their weight into the space
you're stringing me through
Just keep feeding the line
our kite hearts
have always met above such earth

mar 26, 2011

For All the Pretty Potty-Mouthed Girls

For all the pretty potty-mouthed girls
your breath smells of hope
and the powers you curse
wantonly dashing your all
again and again against
what is expected of a girl,
especially a pretty one.
To those expectations you add only
your potty-mouth
and they come humiliated to beg
at your drunken feet.

Mar 26, 11

From the Train Platform

Sometime time will finally start
and pass me by, windows flashing teeth
and I'll do it differently than you.
But now, in an unblinking caress
time and I
lean into one another
and remember you in every idleness
what better to hold between us?

mar 26, 11

Complaint

Lungs complain of the body
clamped down on them
and shudder at the efforts
the body takes to be able to smell another
as well as sight
as well as touch
and taste
Lungs inoculated with days
and days drawn from them
they wonder
why their captors chase such days
what is so important
in the evening scent of neck
in the shape lips list love from
in the catch in a cracked word
your name whispered head to sole
the tide of one hand onto another
and the further tide that follows
Lungs do not understand
and so consider ceding
their long-suffered chore

mar 26, 11

Badly Dug Grave

The feeling is
all the blood from under my chest,
wide and brimming,
suddenly escaping into the past
- that is the feeling -
someone has dug a grave there
and dug it badly
not frozen and measured straight
but sloping and sinking in on itself
the sun topples in and is lost
forever warming the past.

mar 26, 11

Mountains of Poetry

I did not write mountains
I wrote guilt, and not enough
and begged the oranges from short trees
instead of climbing up into their eaves
and what wouldn't fall, I shot.
He reminds me to take my finger
from the trigger of my heart
to let the barrel empty in the floor
leaving room for the mystery
in season and hanging, whistling
just out of easy reach.

Mar 26, 2011

On and On

Mountains on and on
filtered by dust
smoke and clouds
letters come on like poems
and music a muffle
to the cymbals of all
the crowds
the stares the stones
Time fairly flies
we snatch at it
stealing hems and leftovers
These rivers
must always be forded
there is no bridge
and crossing leaves us
soaked dark and exhausted

mar 31, 2011

Arrows

This is an East to West city
an arrow dissolving
at its point
warming the flesh of God
but grown over by it.
Somewhere somewhere
we'd like our prayers
to warm God like that
then only to be absolved.

Mar 31, 2011

Proletariat Eyes

My body replaces only
dust in flight
a wearing thin page.
theirs are iron shovels
every limb
replacing a limb of resisting earth
ungiving root
pouring their dark eyes
hand over hand
into the hollow.
my paper body
sometimes rolled, sometimes bound
hides on every balcony
too far above for the earth's
new made eyes to notice
to wonder how different we are.

mar 31, 11

He Was Born in Spring

Just as the sun remembered
the old paths once familiar
just as it turned to
clear them through the starry wilds again
he was born screaming
the sun heard and hurried northward

Now the winter snatches at his heels
and twists his footfalls
to swallow his plans in the time
between the stars
but he was born in Spring
and won't rest until
he meets the sun on these northpaths again

feb 13, 11

Not Job's Friends

I will not be like Job's friends
and tell you who is god
I will only rub into your sight
the flicking nightmare streets
and lost worded women drug through
the scratch of bones under clothing
and endangered arms meant to hold
you will see empty wrapper eyes
and you will know.
But as a friend I will not leave you deafened,
but breathe into your fragile ears
and I will do it slow so they can
fill and overflow in whisper want
at the glowing moss living as skin
at the rolled open child with sky wide eyes
at blooded limbs that lift from plaster
at kindred coincidences finding themselves finally
with a hand on the right door
and then you will know,
although you have not seen or heard -
      and the pottery wounds will still scab
      and hell will still stab up into your path
      and the kite of your heart will still lie parceled to scraps -
who God is.

mar 24, 2011

Oh Lover, Stranger

Oh Lord (read: Lover), God (read: Stranger) of
heart and skin
of marrow and sight
of song and dread
of dust and blood
of thaw and threat
of word and gasp
of desire and lack
of howl and sleep
of injury and of earth
of here and never
of water and spite
of wreck and wine
of heist and drown
and way and walls
of face, of rock
Oh Lover, Stranger of
   all
      there is no God
   no one
         no all
like you.

mar 22, 2011

Fireworks On Another Cold Day

I would press my forehead against
the glass of that lowering sky
press my skull's thinness into it
until a bloom, a blossom, a wilt
of blood cracks there
and red and pink and purple
calls the sun god to answer
blood for blood
fill that coward sky


Mar 21, 2011

Day In and Out

In the morning
an early shade
passes through
my half spun dreams
threaded by
the night I passed
watching over
her early sleep


mar 21, 2o11

Enters the Season

We both breathe in
the dog and I
until it aches
and in the reaching
we both fill
with rainwater under cedars
and the stretched out bellies
of resurrection worms
and with that difficult breath
we raise our noses
and the hair on our necks
to the vanishing lightning
to the silent whip of its dress
in the camera stun

mar 21, 2011

Job's Revision

God sheds darkness
sent heavy like a slab of wall
the understructure of light
the real beams of noontime
shine with density only
shine with the chaos of a shut eye
the hunger heaped there
And sloughed from the feet of God.
And to what shall I compare the darkness of God?
it is like his coat no longer warm
it is like his dreams no longer dreams
but nightmares and so the darkness falls
from the very forearms of God
as he wipes them across his face.

Mar 20, 2011

hope keeper

the faith is thin
it breaks in its own steps
it's been long suffered
it's been long held tightly
it's been long draining
from under the skin
a colour gone
a temperature abandoned
hope is all that hangs on shoulders
all that sticks to the roof of a mouth
it is not faith
it does not fill
but keeps the empty halls
clean ready for what must come.

Mar 20, 2011

Left There

Words become secrets
when they're not heard
and there are many
you kick up as dust
lips don't move them
and ears don't enfold them
they rise and settle to rise again.
You haven't seen them
smeared in the sunlit air
or on your resting fingertips?
You haven't discovered
them left behind like accidents
or swept under conversations?
Well they may make fossils there
or rise again.

Mar 1, 2011

What the Son of God Dreamt

The hours at the waterside
at the bottom of mountains
the foot of trees
at the back of crowds
settle into gravity
bodies sinking with the self
they're meant to carry.
Instead of empty silk waiting
for a bloom to flame
our bodies are hoarder's trunks
slowly covered in and becoming
debris from the dreaming tide.

Mar 14, 2011

Smell Empties and Does Not Refill

That room smelled of tatami
and of boiled water.
my body emptied onto
the floor nightly
but hands lost,
their undersides had not flown with me.
and they could have kept me in place
when place was a hollowed landscape.


Mar 13, 2011

Recalling the Dark There

Under trees
along the line of a hill
the shadows of the wood, of me, of God
bleed

Mar 5, 11

In My Own Image

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

i am

I need to lie down
prostrate the words and my ear
the ground the plane
I was measured and deemed upon
if your name can Be
now as always
withstanding modifiers
mine can match in
only response: I need to lie down
entirely spent
of effort, of claim
to the ground I bend
to the earth you lay
I ask and wait
this i am
this i am


jan 29, 2011

Little Said

There's little to be said for winter
its winsome snow darkening away
as I long for it deeper,
its crowding in to share little
but taken breath taken signs of life,
its paring down to delicacies
hard cast ornament and hard won affections,
its difficult way of defining
only this only that
until there is only
this before me
all else apart,
My water in color dreams don't hold
fast in the ear
of this reticent rock.


jan 29, 2011

Posture

Is it coincidence
that an eye socket should fit into a knee?
Who ever heard of a self-conscious eye socket
but the one fitted there now
feels startled in its self shape.
It couldn't, never would, have known
itself as an indentation
without the supplemental bone,
the convex knee, to match it.
My eye socket should like to know more
it will go about fitting itself
to other protrusions to see.

jan 27, 2011

The Subtle Work of Eyebrows

There's hardly anything prettier than wet eyebrows
They do all the subtle work of a mouth
The curl of an L
The lift of two oo's
the land of the k
The two hover over At
and nestle under Me
Until the mouth
is a noise we no longer need.

jan 27, 2011

People's Ages

It is important to know people's ages
How else will I know when I will inherit your eyes
With the creases that frame
but don't cage them
and show up other places
like your smile.

jan 27, 2011

My Own Volition

of my own volition
whispered whiskey in the kitchen
I drank it in
I breathed it out
but under one condition that
a tree caught in a kite
is still a form of life
and wrestling with
or resting in
it doesn't covet flight.

jan 27, 2011

No Mother Arms

We have no mother arms
even if we found them powerless
long ago, they were for pretending
and now
they're not and we cannot even imagine
side by side with plenty of space in between
our arms hold nothing
not wanting to disappoint in the end.
Is all our honesty just this
helpless distance
the inability to hold one another
with a power that may or may not be ours.

Jan 16, 2011

Over and Over My Shoulder

Over and over my shoulder
your puns and all knowledge of the world
go over
over and over my head
Your looks and seems and all rules
I find only looking over
over and over my shoulder
The chills of breaks in faith
I find all over
over and over my arms
Let's let sentence silence and all say
go, it'll go
over and over our shoulders.

jan 6, 2011

Manners

The shingles the shutters
and the floorboards hover
the chimney rocks and mantle lumber
the coffee table and couches rub together darker
where our heads go
where our heads land
when they roll when they drop
they head there
to that house in all manners
it is a house of trying to be
and was when it didn't imagine it.

jan 6, 2011

Mad One

Is everyone a mad one
repeating it to mutters
wringing and refolding lines
repeating it to millions
to you, yourself, you, yourself
yes, you, what you already know
reconsidering, remembering, reciting
"it's truer than that it's truer than this
listen to me, I'm your mother
I'm your you"
Is everyone used to this stutter?

jan 6, 2011

My, my

My, you use big signs
you close big eyes
but then we're not
looking and my, how
you shift them
under (as if) under cover
from one of us on and on
but my, it's easy to see here
flashing whites flashing blacks
what are you looking at
gently, what do you see
shifting my way shifting back.

jan 6, 2011

Alto

the hawks
the eddy arrows of flocks
the south
the road south
an alto
just like an alto
pulling down a thin melody
and gives it back
buoying it up
from its own undertow.

Dec 23, 2010