Uneven in the exact terms Platonically
We are old lies.
Immortal as I myself have done you on
Pedestal declines you do two and three of
Those principles and this point on
Orbits by this head an artificial style of
An addiction that pleased me on
Manner but not method, an old legend of
Flat or round in the center:
Ceremonies of conium:
Someone said before:
Air or breath?
“a cock to Asclepius,” Socrates is dead.
Twelve pieces of skin around the earth.
Sunium to Phasis in Harmonia,
Twelfth piece of skin around the earth.
Orpheus after the war
Orpheus after the War
was a thought upon the Beach,
A veteran with a dispense and a reach
In to your dress, love is gone.
If there were no war,
Milk would drift down your sorrow,
Lifted from skin graft
And inhaled
Under the dandelion sky.
Our early March was
Evergreen coated in snowflakes,
aching backwards
And arcing sideways,
You moved like glue
On a window screen.
Where can I go now
But to the memory of
Driftwood hands stained
In this comfort of ink?
Goddess, in a psalm kennel of adrenalin.
Water foam shoreline
Inhales the roots of wood,
Your arms,
corpse flowers among
Vibrations: the sound of the ocean.
Lonely din and hum
of memory,
Cold in a crowded waterfront.
Blackbird sky, gasoline eyes,
A city of crowds
And magnetic density,
A shelter for warmth tonight,
soup made of hot dogs
and leftovers.
Homeless and waiting
Kent 1992, the words don't move
for Thanksgiving kindness.
was a thought upon the Beach,
A veteran with a dispense and a reach
In to your dress, love is gone.
If there were no war,
Milk would drift down your sorrow,
Lifted from skin graft
And inhaled
Under the dandelion sky.
Our early March was
Evergreen coated in snowflakes,
aching backwards
And arcing sideways,
You moved like glue
On a window screen.
Where can I go now
But to the memory of
Driftwood hands stained
In this comfort of ink?
Goddess, in a psalm kennel of adrenalin.
Water foam shoreline
Inhales the roots of wood,
Your arms,
corpse flowers among
Vibrations: the sound of the ocean.
Lonely din and hum
of memory,
Cold in a crowded waterfront.
Blackbird sky, gasoline eyes,
A city of crowds
And magnetic density,
A shelter for warmth tonight,
soup made of hot dogs
and leftovers.
Homeless and waiting
Kent 1992, the words don't move
for Thanksgiving kindness.
This is Sacred Ground
This is sacred,
flooded room empty but for water boards,
dry, rubbed with black ink.
This is sacred ground,
page floors, a book of hours filled
with anxiety and despair.
This is sage and daisy,
disconnected by death
from the white world.
Noon prayers,
this is more than darkness, bearing in
around me, where the tree stood.
They laid the man down,
from the white world back into his sacred
Mother, and the world was
made of sound again,
spirits singing of mind
and mushroom fire.
This is sacred ground,
disconnected by death
from the white world.
The Iraq War
Strange piers angle deathward
From Manhattansand....
What are cold naked swallows doing here?
I say, but my throat don't,
Featherless driftwood
Of this Iraq War. Birdskin.
Child flesh embedded in mother skin
The transplanted invasives,
paper thin
Sunday supplements,
mortuary streets,
rosewater.
Before I was nothing,
your head was
Going down and pulling stains
From Damascus unprepared, unfolded,
playgrounds of a wooden
automation.
They will be forgiven
after they are
forgotten.
I am a four-handed
Sybil, a miniature of faith
And DNA that defiles this
Hollow earth.
.jpg)
From Manhattansand....
What are cold naked swallows doing here?
I say, but my throat don't,
Featherless driftwood
Of this Iraq War. Birdskin.
Child flesh embedded in mother skin
The transplanted invasives,
paper thin
Sunday supplements,
mortuary streets,
rosewater.
Before I was nothing,
your head was
Going down and pulling stains
From Damascus unprepared, unfolded,
playgrounds of a wooden
automation.
They will be forgiven
after they are
forgotten.
Abu Graib body
unfucked and folded,
served with
maggots and celebration
at a State Dinner every September.
What death fertilizes your
Anniversary impulse this Tuesday?
Sybil, a miniature of faith
And DNA that defiles this
Hollow earth.
.jpg)
The Sun Kings
When we were
air foil and turbulence,
sun kings
upon dust
covered hills,
a green machine
of slow gyroscopes
and black magenta
metastasized.
Our words slowly roll
up the beach,
salmon poetics
and dried tubes
of cellulose.
Brown pieces fall out of my mouth.
I look with red eyelids, backward,
a gilded survivor.
air foil and turbulence,
sun kings
upon dust
covered hills,
a green machine
of slow gyroscopes
and black magenta
metastasized.
Our words slowly roll
up the beach,
salmon poetics
and dried tubes
of cellulose.
Brown pieces fall out of my mouth.
I look with red eyelids, backward,
a gilded survivor.
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