Kid I was
when Dad got my nose
showed how to take your thumb apart
Oh, and the trick
with the hats and cigarette butts
How to worm a hook
Bought a poetry book
Must’ve seen my look
Told me I must be a man
Face the bullies
Have a plan
Double up that fist
Let ‘em have it!
Yeah
Taken-
the combings of years,
of minutes and seconds.
Sift and sieve,
this sultry eve.
What’s fallen,
plasmic,
into dream hands,
begs of wonder,
of worship,
and tastes
of regret and forgiveness.
You must be my Witch
In the day, you are as plain
as day
I think you don’t see me
Maybe you think I don’t see you
but I am good at eyes
Always in your greys and tans and flats
Shiny swinging hair
Bottle goggles to discourage the shallow
You glow
from the feathers of my pillow.
Down here, tonight,
on the green ground,
it’s quiet and still,
vacuumed.
I look up, by chance,
to test for rain.
The darkening clouds sail,
like a float of smoke.
A diamond of dirty gulls
rides the breeze, like flying M’s,
and I fancy I feel feather fluff
and whoosh of wings
I was one for Drama,
but the frame was the thing.
I wanted only to be
the swelling strings,
the muted xylophone,
the kettle drum tympanic.
I would whip the most mundane
into the unforgettable.
Make you think your sadness
into music.
All in allegory
of our mad desires.
Drawn to baby anythings
she is
Seeks to protect
to nurture
But if the thing grows
and gains stubborn volition
then on she must move
to find another small one
to teach
to love
to know the duality of joy
and
take tearful vengeance
on an old giant
Melting Man
has the night terrors
Malignant faces
Pointing fingers
Nodding to each other
with icicle noses
long hands
and obscene gestures
~Man of the Melt~
Cover yourself!
Fold ye down into the foam
where mildewed spirits cannot roam
Call ye spiders and millipedes home!
Detect the fault lines
in a stubborn peanut shell
Wet-nose the whiskery cat
Feel the points he makes
out of soft pads
Let the large leaf ant
explore your jungle
Unite or untie your ganglion knots
Sniff a crocus
keep your focus
She felt like a foot
with uniform toes.
Something to cover,
but familial
to her apartness.
In her years,
she picked up tools
both shiny and showy,
but of the wrong life.
Fools’ gold,
valued as real,
was lost on her.
Untrainable.
Mulish, they said.
Others of us knew
differently.
A still pond
padded with lilies
dappled with netted sun
Cicada hum
My green rest
Please-
pocket the stone
and let it alone-
I’ll paint you
as someone sepia
and fleeting
by this bower’s dome
***
Image: Pixabay
Aremyfeetofftheground 