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you did step in it
  
Prospecti on the possible contamination of myself on other bloggers.
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In my dream Jul 31, 2007 8:29 pm
1013 Views
Waking in my dream
I reach my mind
to stall the coming hours
and stay the slipping grasp
that misses where I've been.
My body knotted
in jointed remains,
is slow to unfurl.
I turn in curves
to brush away the day
and crush my head
further into sleep.
Faceless shadows
hover me
as I begin
to organize
the shallow refrain.

I've lived my night in outlines.

Eyes seize
and glaze
in the morning glare of light.
My fingers reach
in quiet cocoon,
a span of limbs to waken -
a moment fibered,
mindless
of where to begin.

I've dreamed my life in outlines.
19 Comments
In this fantasy there is only me Jul 30, 2007 10:09 pm
936 Views
I can not remember the touch
of any lover.
In this fantasy
there is only me,
my sideways hair
strewn,
perhaps a shelter;
an inner arm arched,
the hardest place
to glide;
my limbs -
a mirrored surprise.

There are lifetimes
married to what
I have forgotten.
Have tongues traveled
the every part of me?
Did memorizing fingers
carve my face or
trace my curve
in preparation?
Did I decline
my own ecstasy?

Unlike pain,
touch surrenders
to the years.
Senses randomly attack:
the sudden thrust
and burn of pleasure,
the breathing hand
whose movement lingers.

What is not lost,
however,
among the thousand years
of my speculation,
or in the fearful fog
through which my mind
must wander,
is the first time
I felt
the truest color
of your eyes.
17 Comments
Absolutely nothing to do with my vacation Jul 23, 2007 4:17 pm
826 Views
I want to leave my skin behind
as the weary arms of hell
wrap me around
my sins.
Not in tatters
of whispered thinness
floating back to earth,
or flakes
which take a lifetime
to succumb...
no
I want to leave my skin
in a solid layer
just above the dirt,
full with the shape of me,
my true wreckage
a reek of carnage
spoiling down below.
I will lay my largest layer
unrelieved,
a pigment
fading in the sun,
an epidermis
vulnerable
and waiting.
I will not return.
2 Comments
Muse Jul 14, 2007 4:04 pm
917 Views
Your absence sits with me
in the setting flame of day,
a silent light as grand
and pulsating
and uneven as
the secret crusade of night.

It rests with me
as I rest
in the afterglow of a
carnival day,
the toll of bones
rolled in every direction,
the breeze sharpened
as the final mystery of white
is deceived.

Your absence
is the first star,
the ring of thoughts
I cannot release
into the dark.
My pedestal has become
a thin rock
where I sleep
and am scared
to stay
until morning.

See Poetic Challenge # 12 for details.
16 Comments
Behind the curtains... Jun 25, 2007 10:23 pm
894 Views
Smoke fills my front porch,
sighing and winding around the night.
Outward
into open windows it flows
and upward
toward a quiet and final intent.
Sound weaves to me
a pattern of disconnect,
or perhaps it is distorted ecstacy
that turns my head away
in denial and neglect.

The argument of morning
denies what I have supposed
and I alone slide
into my middle age,
smoking the same increasing breaths
as twenty years ago.
Head bent,
eyebrows oddly unfamiliar
in my hand,
I tiptoe in
to accept
the stranded grays of dawn.
17 Comments
Every Third Line Jun 21, 2007 7:33 pm
804 Views
I will not be there
in my library bedroom
sheets set back
in welcome,
angled on your pillow.
There will be no
evening silence,
shared in endless
awareness
of the tandem need
to space our words
in beats and glances.
Have you read
Billy Collins?
I discovered him today
and every third line
sounded as if you were
speaking to me.

I will read just one line
to prod you from your
bookstore novel.

But I remember again,
I will not be there
in the perfect curve
of her Mediterranean morning,
the breeze of a new day
floating through to settle
on your skin,
a fresh touch brushed
against your shine.
4 Comments
The Day You Died Jun 3, 2007 7:48 pm
1106 Views
The Day You Died

There was the day you died
and me
after the chat,
a pickup truck beer
and cell phone in
the other hand.
There was me
pointing for reception,
a smoking endless
motion
defending my need
for tears.
The weekend snapped shut,
it's renaissance wave
a sun burnt tide
before your rising night.
The urgent telling
tore mangled through the plastic
of a wordless face.
The knowing came in
in keystroke fractions
tapping out
the paces
of my heart.
16 Comments
What May 29, 2007 7:01 pm
697 Views
The American Dream

I have served the sprawl of you,
your future forged
by the echoes
of concrete wishes
that traveled first,
usurped by the
immigrant heirs
already here.
I laid it out, all,
shelved the relics
of my father's fear
and spread thin
to greet our gambles
with success.
I was there,
a hidden spare
and surely
your penitence
for survival.
Your crime
lay only in your arrival,
but mine lived
in the thorned daunts
of overgrowth
and egress.
I formed the
sprawl of you.
In the space
where fielded wishes
should have grown like
unwatched trees,
your absence
is built
upon the compromise
of my disgrace.
5 Comments
Muses May 20, 2007 6:08 pm
841 Views
Do you remember
the Siamese space
between us,
how it twined
like a Gemini charm,
and how,
when shadows caught
the illusion
of separation
we were not
alarmed?

Do you remember
the wanderings
through nights
magicked only with air,
our breathless script
carried across
the tandem rush
of wind and tide?

Remember?
how we held,
hand-fast,
faithful
against
any jolt of decline
and our woven pose
stood resistant
against the wreckage
of leaving,
stilled
and ever
siamese wound?
9 Comments
The Green Man May 14, 2007 7:23 pm
796 Views
The green man will not live here anymore.
His grain dissipates into the sodden soil,
His leaves, sun-laced, fray and break
with each turn of the dial.

The forest floor remains, a mulch of weakened chaff
And wood and air and rain blaming down.
It remains in weathered footfalls,
and the burrowed animals
that long for his return.

He has gone at long last, tendrils of his reign
Tremble on, glimpsed only through the wooded gate.
His lust now is planted deep in the moist hollow
of some dim and fertile erstwhile place.
The land raises up no more
Her spectral embrace.

The green man is lifted on by the hands of lore,
He is the song of ancient circles
And the wooded path we take alone.
He is the core of our craven longing.
And though, in the final greening of a day
His branched arms reaching in tired amnesty,
He cannot live here anymore.

**The Green Man is a mythological character symbolizing the earth's fertility. He dwells in the forest, mingled in with everything that is green. I question whether, if the Green Man were real, would he stay here...could he stay here as we slowly punish and destroy the only home he has ever known?**
6 Comments
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