The uncombed grass and feral
Hatchery of hoodlum plants
Like the crooked chicory
And the golden Solidago
I love a messy lot, a stray pumpernickel-colored cat
Without solution, cricket perfection
poem
Little Heart / Big Heart
A whisper depends upon molecules.
Atoms in search of each other.
What would love be without spiral
Galaxies?
The Whatnot
The irony of turtles
Is jellyfish prose
Like a filibustering moon
Roundabouting a dream
In the driveway the cat
Asleep next to the oil splotch
An alliteration of reptiles
Sings Rocketman
Poetry toasts
The aria of balloons
In the hourglass
Too is infinity
Poem
Because eternity has paws
And a wishing well for a creed
The shark cedes to the tulip
All of its armor.
In the Month of May
In the month of May, I stood in the yard, the dark roofs and power lines and one of my cats looking over at me and the gray clouds illuminated by the moon. Maybe I’ll study the numerology of paradoxes. The slanted roofs of this enchanted city. My own heartbeat. In the month of May, because it is a warm night, the universe grows horns like a ballad. A bouquet of fairy tales procured by the wind.
Walk On
A stutter a gambol enough
Hinge and pry and unease and
In a flutter a fancy a dark brow
Of a March tree promising spring: Oatmeal in a bowl
Flaxseed blueberries almond
Milk that’s my breakfast:
Zero assumptions are like zero gravity
You need a few to walk but if you have too many
You need to put your foot down
No!
Lines Written in Spring
I prefer the scriptures of the dandelion.
The weight of happenstance.
Imaginary bouquets and
The fatigued folding chairs
At Prometheus’s funerals.
A solemn oath whispered into the large
Hole made by a construction crew.
There is a wild in the unbathed moon.
Said the universe, said the rain.
A light drizzle in a dream.
The streetlights hover without their stems.
The names of each thing have vanished.
Leaving a newfound hunger for stars.
The Sky, Almost Dusk, After Rain
The puddled sidewalks and streets are expert ocularists. And the roofs are ruddy and formal.
What to do with an abandoned car in an overgrown lot. We could toss coins at it to make our wishes?
We have a kind of photosynthesis in our souls, pending celestials at the doorway. The darkness threaded by a spool of angels. The property value of a gust of wind and of the dusk already into the hills.
The mass of the planets helped shape the solar system. And how much of that affects who I am?
4 Short Poems
Authentic:
A twangy guitar like volcano
Flowers.
A sparse harmonica
Like a ghost in the afternoon curtains.
Walking:
How a star
Invented a pulley system
In the arches between
Dreams
In addition to paradoxes
And doorknobs
The Moon:
Slapstick plate
Over the shed roof
And the reason your bicycle
Has a flat tire
Your Shoes:
UFOs in yachts
Even the sidewalks
Curve with spacetime
In Marker
I was buying three paintings a day
I was sponsoring chalk drawings
Anything with scribbles on it
I’d pick up off the street
Walking alongside junkyard walls I
Wrote on the corrugated steel “Do you know
The album, Zen Arcade, by Husker Du?
Out of Step, by Minor
Threat?"
I went to thrift stores, to city fields, church sales
Just to find the pictorial of light of deity of logic of everything that is endless
And terminal of dark of sun and the more popular binary stars
Be certain
To appertain
The havoc and the intention
The intervention of fiction
As Steve Zissou said,
"Nobody knows what's going to happen. And then we film it. That's the whole concept."
Michael (over at https://ravensweald.com/) and I were talking of old bands we listened to. And Hüsker Dü came up. I mentioned, not only did I like their music, but the title of the album, Zen Arcade and the cover art itself, has been influential to me. I brought up I had a poem were I mention the album title, but had taken it down. Deciding I didn’t like the poem. But I’ve given it another shot at editing. Still not sure it’s finished. But I thought I’d give it another try. I hope you enjoy. Thanks.
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