On Holiday

One must put one’s ear to a stone
To hear the axis of Jupiter,
Or a volleyball game in Canada.

Or be on holiday to string
Oh so elaborately
Lights around a black hole.

Even if black holes lack
The ability to look up
And acknowledge such a feat.

Bravo to every dandelion! I agree, it’s spring.

And there are holiday lights around black holes!

And so what if dandelions end up like gray haired stars
At night on the city lawn.

Are finished with what they have to say.

Bare Feet, Verses, Earth

Who drank the last

Of the halos? Deliberately made it rain?

Stole old purses from graffiti

Elbows?

Who lit fire to the last of the rocks?

Knowing very well that this storm

Is bare feet, verses, earth.

Like fireflies

Opening doors,

The spring wind

Counting knives.

I adhere to berry and branch,

Leaf, sunlight in the arteries,

Theater wire and the stars.

The Digital Pollen of an Abstract Afternoon

The way here is through particles of self and to the dust and the sea and that breath.

Distance and the sandwiches.

I forget all my head and I don’t like it where is the weather of himself to wear through the streets and along the train rails.

The broken brick lay in a pile a few yards from what’s left of the industrial structure: the flowers and the plants interceding.

On the rubble mound shoes probably me with them finding the space listening to the nearby fields no sound but in vibrations my self is the song space.