Monday, November 23, 2009

Bus Ride with the Office Crowd

The place is alright.
Friendly;
but no touching.

The laughter is light:
"ha ha,"
without controversy,
and we get along just fine.

What It's Like To Be a Family

Hey! Old man.
I wrote you in already.
What are you doing where you are?

I grab your hand
and move it where
it should be posed.

Why do you deviate?
Trying to make trouble?
Different from how it should be.

This could be a very calm world
if you would do as expected,
especially as you diminish.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Awake in the Depth of the Night

In the dearest scene to answer
intimate childhood dreams,
there's business.

The call of the wild
the hoot of lover to draw lover
conceals the bargains.

We will live in paradise
my lover after we find the means
and you will bring them.

Art is cash
and so is laughter.

Monday, November 16, 2009

The Encounter Dream

If you need a rest
don't scare yourself
take it.
Go back where you were
even for a while.
What is familiar
will slow your heart.
Pell mell, you say
living always
with things that are new.

Friday, November 13, 2009

The Wedding Scene in Oklahoma

The whole town
derbies down the trail
decorated bright like flowers
in a garden under the summer sun,
like Shakespeare's sunny days.

That night, the celebration
is lit with candles.
Everyone dances and sings anthems.
Love is economy,
society,
freedom from fear.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Movie about the Sea

I'm heading cold into
a hollow under the sky.
Day has darkened
and night has met her,
pale, inflamed.

I talk like a man,
cold. Terse
admit nothing,
only laugh and
swing my fists.

The doors don't close
and windows leak, cold.
The vault of sleep
is two thousand miles on
the other side of torn space.

Waiting brings me deeper
into the storm
Cold, fish-like,
not a place for mammals.
Only the wild fish are home.

Monday, November 09, 2009

Meditation

I finally came
to a grasp of trees
with year-long breaths
skin flowing over cuts.

And I finally understood
birds not heavy as we, climbing air,
pushing cushion-filling
out of the way with gulps of wing.

Friday, November 06, 2009

What We Now Call Don


(dry celery: a micrograph)
.

A path
through a field of stardust,
quasi-static
the quantities
keep changing.


A team who
measures magnets
may someday find me,
a crease in blank memory.

Sunday, November 01, 2009

The Spider in the Window Frame





Even the ones
who say they don't trust
have sticky insides,

tear away at risk
of internal rips. We
never get away easily.


This is a planet
of pull-me push. Sticky
webs stretch and hold.


They spin through our eyes,
sticky threads that build homes.
Please don't despair.