So it came to be
that nothing mattered to the wind
and it ceased blowing angrily around things
such as when it howled around houses
Such as when people around tables
brought the food to their mouths
with slower deliberation
as if to make certain
the wind would not hear
and take offense
as if it mattered to the wind
12/28/11
12/17/11
ALL THE DREAMS OF BLACK AND WHITE
All the Dreams of White and Black
in rings surround each other;
consecutively triumphing,
each one will strain to reign.
Unaware the Coil they spin
one end loops to the other
completing triumphantly
a God-ring, gray, to stay.
10/27/11
10/15/11
MAD DOG
Once was a dog there. He was.
Oh he grinned. Happy dog.
But he knew
something commanded.
Once a moon there is,
it attracts water.
He lolled away from it.
In his madness,
he came to loathe the sea
and what it contained.
It is easy to see how
he shied from that huge stomach
and the slow bloat of its crest
during night. The dog had no name
and he roamed across the land like a whitecap
leaving prints that would fade in slowmelt
trailing behind him—the signature
of a wraith, erased by dawn's arrival.
No one knew where he came from
or what he was doing
6/26/11
EFFECTS OF MOON
Break apart into
drifting rocks
set your sight
on the nearest moon.
You have released it.
It will float some
where else now
and eventually be
captured by another's
gravity until
the time that person
relinquishes,
surrendering
into fragments,
liberating the
nomadic moon,
allowing it
to continue
its pale drifting
and its occasional
nightly silvering
of alien beaches
and the wise eyes
that gaze from them.
BROKEN LAUGHTER
within they
crumble
but at least
revealing the ones
that remain
out shining
is always when
you're alone
never falls on
their heads
like a storm
their within
crumbles
leaving nothing
after wind the shells
begin to crack
erosion takes care
of the rest
so happy
together
pieces and bits
never smile
in the least
what you
are seeing
is the continual
rocking
of
a
curved
shard
6/25/11
UPON THE WALLS
Retreating into the fold
of his shell, an echo
buried in a cistern
of clear memories
(never mind the lair
that entraps him).
The emblazoned, sanctified
relics hung on the walls
persistent signatures
of pain. While some wink
shut others open
slowly and stare
1/21/11
RAIN
whispers to me
your secret.
It tells me
of the seeds
in your pockets
and the clouds
in your hair
and it tells me
it can draw
you out
of your dry place
for a price.
Of course I know
the price
but I dimiss it
and the rain
sets out to find you
and I wait
soaked.
I dry in the rays
of the sun
when the rain returns
without you
it says nothing
only indicates
the ground at my feet
a tulip sprouts
and blooms
before me.
I am reminded
of your return
1/6/11
THE SPECTER OF ACTUALITY
Everything is caught
in the undertow.
I think music captures
this truth best.
I keep moving
until I match
the speed of life.
Then I let go.
The point is not
to pass or avoid
failing the test.
The test is merely
The true measure
of one's worth.
Taking it or leaving it
has always been our choice.
A voice will dissolve
into mist, haunting
harbors and homes.
Scratching at steamed
windows in the snow.
Emitted from the creaking
of anchored chains,
The whispers of the dead
fall upon emptiness.
I try to become familiar
with these empty spaces.
I try to remember these
lost voices once belonged
to different faces.
Individuals forgotten
in time. Yes, I can
imagine. No countries.
Only land. Listen to
the whispering wind.
It only tells of friends
lost or gained.
All these leaves
are carried downstream,
Headed toward the same sea.
That's the message carried
in the chuckling laughter
of a babbling brook.
It is the secret
in the book.
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