Tuesday, June 20, 2017

lady in pink top and white culottes

pretty like the underbelly
of a dog -- hairs stray
unkempt yet uncommonly soft
out of place in a just-so way

like the profane secrets the Hasidim hide
or the tawdry confessions of a Zen monk
-- her beauty is predictable, reliable

one might number the steps
to heaven
by it

or sail a moon ship
into the ocean
blinded
by her sensible pumps

broken people doin' what they do

you're controlling,
she said

some people are,
he replied
it's not necessarily a bad thing
you know

she had nowhere to go
now that her prison
was decorated
with daisies of despair
plastic shelving
and lawn chairs

all the while, he withered inside
recanting
but not
saying so

Friday, June 9, 2017

sense of two

the living incomplete
a sense of two
where there is at most
no more than one
a lift in the throat
a deep gut plummet

these things contemplate for me
the end of my disillusionment
the beginning of a new accord
a complex marriage
of simple truths

marrow of fate

marrow of fate
grit, mold, a gram of gold
fortune and fallow soul
weeds grown like children
up into the strange sky
the forgiving sky
lift dreams and amber with them

dew drops stop short of testimony
speak their incredible witness
sparks immanent, hidden spirals
hydrogen twice tells its stories
which seem somehow unlikely
if not impossible

Sunday, June 4, 2017

s. central rain II

the sadness of sorry
the melancholy golly
gee whiz
I didn't mean to

letting yourself
be
fucked up

don't you dare
put a strand
of that mussed up hair
back
in place

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

who's right

charlatan peacemakers
puppets of aggression
meaning well is meaningless
destroying the world, incidental
for those who mean no harm
just want what they feel is right
right the right
I’m right, who’s left? First base!

let down your anger
righteous indignation turns your mind
into a red state
think of rain over the ocean
where coolness meets its match
the fire eating the Earth alive
running to meet the faultline
from both sides
is hushed quiet
a finger to each ones lips
we stop for a turn of the clock to think
that pause, the saving gift

Saturday, May 20, 2017

Nature's Oasis


organic rain droplets
sustainable greenery
blocking the view of the church
that tells its self-pitying tales
of a savior who cannot fill
those front row pews like he used to

I can barely make out that church
sipping my fair trade coffee
in the Nature's Oasis cafe
catty corner
from Lakewood Methodist

and neo-hippies
one of which I am not qualified to be
with long beards and bicycles
yoga mats and yoga pants
absorbed in their bland, grooveless, acoustic music
their oh-so fashionable revolutionary politics
have no care for God
no belief, no connection
save for the trance while on the road in the bike lane
the hum of gears clicking into place
the Om of the 5-minute meditation
beginning every 40-minute Vinyasa yoga session