The sleeper’s in want
of a whirring fan
to mitigate the noises
of the settling night.
To knit a womb of warm and snowy static
that gloves, in syllables,
~We are on guard~
~We will see to care~
Category Archives: poetry
You just keep me hanging on
I live in the world
of whistle and hum…
those intimates
that clear the blank snow from pathways.
That conjure up demented dance,
and keep at bay the deathly trance.
God save the Queen
Dreams, I’ve had,
and thoughts in broad day,
now,
of doors both shut and locked.
Of bridges,
burned or broken.
Vision’s through wrong-way binoculars,
cleverly cartooned.
A safe distance.
But listen…just…
The clown is talking.
The church of research
May I do this with your arm,
you said.
Not ~Can I~,
but ~May I~.
And then, with your hands,
you pressed down hard
into the years,
prying up stones
that were cold and complacent.
The roots of moles and strawberries.
And “What?”, I thought.
What are you looking for?
This hurts, yes.
***
If I had the wings of an Angel
The curve and camber
of lofted windowlight.
An epithet for the sun.
Shady doings…
Embowered in dappledark
the mushroom kin
shake out their seasonings
in a randy rain of spores
A fallen pollen
for the dusky earth
Shaded with umbrellas of gills
Odds are
Copters of the dandelion-Maple
hover and spin
hover and spin!
Miss the mower
Allowed to flower
Allowed to root
Bumbles and squirrels to boot!
Who wears short shorts?
The wan sun on Athabasca.
Her dress of snapdragon lace.
A dwindling down to frost, this night.
An unexpected need for gloves.
Keep moving,
I must.
Hot gossip
I told you,
from a distance,
that I loved you,
and was blackened
with the earned shame
of the illicit.
Noses sniffed.
Fingers pointed.
Hands covered whispering lips.
But you?
You had a look of surprised wonder,
and blushed redly,
uncaring of the devil’s radio.
Erotique
I carry scissors
just for this,
you know.
Straddle the lacyness.
Snip snip
(at the seams, mind you).
What’s that,
a bit of talc?
Ah, but you feed me
with dream.
I lay in quandary,
ear to the cotton.
My dirty laundry
is long forgotten.
Aremyfeetofftheground 