closer to knowing
in this pure state
the heart is undone
looking for remedy

glasses can’t fill fast enough
sleep doesn’t steal enough hours

closer to knowing
what the end brings
silence bears the brunt of it
catching most of the time

asleep in a glass half full
wake me when its time

closer to knowing
the lightness of being
the truth of it all
that I can take

technoism on tenterhooks

Boone moved along the old river
every year as seasons changed,
living in tenter made from kills
before the snows came - the trees slept.
feeling aged, he thought to stay tucked
in to winter camp to wait for
the spirit guide to lead him Home,
but the call of the rapids rush
ripping through icy fields down stream
moved him to treck south toward spring.

on tenterhooks, I listen for
change of natural movement;
never near a river or stream,
water does not carry the call,
but a well, rooted in my soul,
springs eternal the highest hope
that the next turn shows me the road.

over time, as concrete sprawled,
nature’s path was crossed.
many lost the rhythm that is natural
to the cycles that Earth provides,
instead, relying on the motherboard
to inform time’s movement.

static and data interrupt
natural rhythms which are
fundamentally the core of
how I see myself living.
I want to catch the flow of life
that Mother gives us when we
first pull on her for nourishment.

we are gullet full and mindless of
the disconnect of compassed sounds
intuitively necessary in order to hear
the rush and patterns of landmarks
that jigsaw back and forth across 
wire-less, natural landscapes
of returning, cycled, spirit paths.

Boone sits constant in memory,
found in a tattered faded book
under a big sky on the shelf.
the chord that he struck guides me,
and though I don’t sleep directly
under the stars that purpose shine,
they pull me nonetheless, for time
is best served measuring life
distanced from inorganic connection.

still life

still standing
not moving
or talking
or thinking
or seeing.

look deep
look long
look in
look through.

feel me
feel it
feel something.

don’t engage
don’t pull.

just be.


He came to supper that first time carryin’ gladiolas.
Well, we all know that gladiolas ain’t glad ta see ya.
They tend to crowd ‘round oak and prayer books
Looking at your last appearance in this world.

I held tight to those yella flowers like none others.
It had been a long time since a fella came a callin'
With something green and petaled in his hands.
It seemed sincere ‘nough, made me happier than nits.

Him and me, we spent loads of time stittin' togetha
Pulling weeds and rakin’ our souls through mud.
Getting close, real close, like what people can do
Even if they ain’t related or betrothed and all.

But he never did give me nothin’ else ‘til right now.
Course what he gave, no one would be envious of.
Cause he gave me the feeling that he never looked,
Never took a real good look and liked what he saw.

He messed with me real bad come to think of it.
Took real good parts of me and whittled ‘em down.
Sucked the marrow out of me- dog gone dry
Like I was nuthin’ worth a good chew.

If'n when I die, I tell you this from my brok'n heart,
I don’t want no goddamn gladiolas on my rest.
I’d take twigs pulled up at the root and holding dirt
Over those dang flowers that he brought to supper.

a lesson

she looks like the second one
eerily similar to the first.
I don’t get it.

all of mine have been different
unlike in all ways.
I like variety.

tall, short, broad, slim,
black, flesh, brown

super smart, kind of dumb
laugh out loud
quiet some.

you were what I’d never had,
the boys from school
who didn’t look.

white and safe tucked into
picket fences and
bland girls.

no talking back or being loud
in clean white panties,
sitting still.

oh bother, who wants that
give me something
to hold on to.

I missed out of nothing
if in fact, 
you are the rule.

these sore eyes

 I sure could use a sight
         for these sore eyes,
been lookin’ at the same
         wall of nuthin’
for what seems like eons
         or somethin’ like.

Not so long ago now
         I looked out on
forever green fields of
         somethin’ to see
besides the concrete that
         most tend to show.

If I look into me,
         color appears
and it’s fine for a spell,
         not dull and gray,
but where is that in some
         one else to see.

I’m thinking I’m foolish
         peacock flashin’
to draw out what I want
         as calming salve
to ease the desert burn
         for I can’t see.

I sure could use a sight
         for these sore eyes.

camera obscura

light came,
a pin sized ray,
and rooted ‘round
to strike a memory
decades old.

flickering at first,
hard to know
what it was:
a street, some tracks,
a block not mine.

colors came
dulled by dark.
I was fifteen
in July heading
toward the carnival.

though concealed
and unconsidered,
the future was
at the end of the
coins in my pocket.

this captured image,
a time preserved
in a morning
of  obscurity.


he drank
himself to death
found days
after his heart
on a bottled landscape.
I wasn’t there
to hold him back
from the ledge
others didn’t realize
that he would
go there
when I did.

my inheritance
arrived in boxes
too heavy to carry
thousands of letters
and pictures
our life.
in his journal
our days
in exotic locales
always ended
in late night

at the time
I did not
have confidence
to warn him
of his indulgence
or to call
out his fears.
I was
blind to
my influence
to make
any difference.

we were young
and love
came to us
like quicksilver.
so fragile.
we weren’t
so spent only
real time
locked together
in daydreams
his other
not well used
and disease
I know
kept him
from me.

she calls
every night
to know
if they came
I am
her connection
to her dead son.
I wonder
why she didn’t
call him
every night
to try
to talk him
off of the ledge.

at night
after long
he stands
in a corner
and watches
me sleep.
he is warm
safe from
his demons.
and with me
I suspect.

industrious by design

the bird
hops branch
to branch
twig tight
in beak
at twilight
to build
a place
to nest.

this last episode

I thought I was in chalk,
but my spirit rose
lighter than before.

this last episode
had me in chains

but I busted out,
left them there
for any to see.

this last episode
had me in chains

but I found strength,
not in the past,
but in what lies ahead.

this last episode
had me in chains

bruised and sore,
I walk away
without a scratch.