Day: February 21, 2010

6 Miles High and Pointed East

poetry

we used to
live here.
the soft and
indigo evenings were
ours.

we were folded
in the
valleys and scars of
the red rock and
the land.

we climbed and
we ran – we
strolled and breathed
deeply with

rich minerals in
our water and
warm sun on our
shoulders.
we absorbed all
we could.

but there was
more and
there was
less than

the fine grains and
glittering flecks
that accumulate and
weather in memory.

those that
are transposed in
pen-strokes are
often incomplete.

we used to
live there. and
now we are two
by the sea.

and all that glows in
dusk behind us and
all that anticipates in
warm dark ahead
is ours!

ours for the making,
ours for the building, and
ours for the taking.

Rondeau

poetry

When eventually there is a time that lasts
A time in which there will be no past
And in this time we will see one another
Where all of us will be united as brothers
When we reach this place unsurpassed

In a time of paradise so eternally vast
There is no pain, it all will have passed
This place we will see, is unlike any other
When eventually there is a time that lasts

When we finally reach this place, alas
Joy will abound, unending it will amass
Long sought embraces will we discover
Into the arms of our fathers and mothers
Where there is no such thing as greener grass
When eventually there is a time that lasts

vomit (imagine it’s a euphemism for writing, and then imagine that maybe it’s not. perhaps you’ll like me better in one of the two boxes. i considered the title ‘bulimia’ but the truth is i’ve never recovered from the high school psych class i had, the video they showed on eating disorders and the fact that i had known far too many women who had struggled with it to be able to process it coldheartedly as the teacher and video had asked. i’m pleased with this final title selection. i think you will be too.)

poetry

a few years back i learned to vomit
and over time i understood

should you pay attention to what you
put in you’ll soon better understand

just what exactly you’ll get out. and
lately i’ve learned to bring up blues

and greens. yellows are natural but
deep hue purples take focus, skill.

lately i cannot vomit enough. just to
stand back and see what’s come up

sometimes it’s poetry and sometimes
just prose but almost never a short

story. a few years back when i learned
to vomit, i never imagined the love

affair she and i would have. my need
to eat slowly decreasing as my own

vomit becomes my inspiration for more

Simple Mistakes

poetry

There’s a crick in my neck
reminds me
of all the cricks in my neck
I’ve had before
but I’ll still sleep on that pillow
because it’s still my favorite pillow
and I’ll sleep on your shitty couch
(I swore I’d never sleep on it
again)

and when
you wake me
accidentally
I’ll let it slide this time
just like I let it slide last time
just like it slides most every time
and I’ll be cussing at your couch
and rubbing out this damn
crick in my neck