1484 5 2
|
My mate and I are owned, but have freedom to take to the endless sky.
|
106146
|
I'm not sure why I favor forgotten detritus from God's great tumbler...
|
4321
|
I have galloped a brumby bare
beneath my thighs,
dust deep ingrain from his
up north beginning,
staining my conscience red.
|
3230
|
In the wilderness of
fractured sunsets
I am not crying
but calling
|
92800
|
It’s a compromising situation...
The would be Bride of Christ begins perspiring
before the crowd.
Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring echoes through the antique church
just one more time,
a little loud.
With every added verse and every flickering vigi
|
162650
|
once wedding cake
under pillows.
now fluffy frosting
on squashed defeat
|
1600
|
Silverfish, so many
underfoot
in our apartment
that we float around
all over the carpeting
and hardwood floors
without actually touching
down
They do all the
heavy lifting
around here
They clip the dead heads
on the roses outs
|
1296116
|
Down South now means August cold snap,
the forties roaring my wool cap
off my head.
|
119941
|
I would ask for your name/if your tongue wasn’t in my mouth.
|
89931
|
Fat robins are chirping –
loudly – at 4 a.m.
They’re trying to delude
the worms into thinking it’s
dawn already
The worms get up underground
They’re grumpy, they
bump into things
They come up to the surface
and Wham! That
|
1930
|
My father diedand I replaced himI prepared myselfby playing a fatherto the children inmy school play—Peter PanIn the same play,in the second act,after the father was done, I was oneof Captain Hook's piratesWe battled the boy whowould never age andthe childrenI think…
|
87940
|
Fire and ice undo me. I am born again, born again through the burning ice and biting flame. Listlessly floating cinder-like on lost cusps of wind that multiply with every with every single with every single breath. Spitfire grail and…
|
1238134
|
her skin the color of honey sugary sweet eyes like long-forgotten pathways to a place I can only just recall her hair in twists and her hands touching it fondling it tucking it back behind her ears as she rubs her legs against each other crosses them at…
|
115022
|
In those days everyone ate poetry for lunch. It was considered essential for your good up-bringing and mental health. We would skip a meal in order to satisfy our hunger for words. To hell with a meal. To hell with dirty politics and meaningless wars on o
|
200
|
|
