In the first documented reference
to Friday the 13th, it is already
described as an ancient superstition,
but the ancients had much more
complex methods for detecting
an inauspicious day. They might’ve noticed
for example how those three crows
skimmed low & landed in the field
to reunite with their shadows.
They might’ve seen the wild
columbine next to the sidewalk
thrusting its red lanterns where
they don’t belong. Our ancestors preferred
hot jets of revelation to the patient
& dispassionate sifting of evidence
and you & I are the eventual result,
i always think of you
late at night.
the stars are out
and i'm reminded of the
galaxy that once lived in your eyes.
the moon is bright
and i'm reminded
of your big eyes that held so much love.
the silence is deafening
and i'm reminded that
this is all you left behind when you went.
lay to rest
Being flawed,
It's only human.
So alien are those,
Who have no compassion.
Commands should be followed,
Because of respect.
Not a deep fear,
Of becoming a reject.
Fairytales end,
With a happy pair.
But all hearts will,
Continously shed tears.
Endings can never,
Truly come.
Until I'm below ground,
And life's finally done.
Eyelids closing,
Then reopening.
Contemplating reasons,
For my existing.
Stars are blinking,
Moon is staring.
The night is listening,
For my breathing.
A memory surfaces,
Causing weeping.
My mind is awake,
Body is sleeping.
Creating clones,
That resemble,
None.
Hiding beauty,
Show by only,
One.
Replacing warmth,
Bringing only,
Reflections.
Lighting up,
A dark sheet,
In fractions.
Holding no,
Real truth,
Or meaning.
Just to fill,
When I look out at sea
I dream of you
Of another life we could lead
I dream of you
Like a moonbeam In the rain
Like a fantasy, like a pain
I dream of you
It's an easy careful dream
And if dreams were true
I hope,
You'll Dream of me too
Music from the church
at this distance, I will hear
only blended souls.
What would Gang of Four
say about this construction
between me and freeze?
Against unhappiness
paprika on potato
contends to the taste.
An intimate act
summoning optimism
that I’ll see the moon.
Not so much the wind
as the shutter cord’s tapping,
the ebb of sirens.
Mill that fine, grinders!
First of July…
rain sounds but no rain,
back of the bus
That tree
thinks about what the wind
might do next
Third of July,
ice blocks the pitcher’s spout…
corkscrewed Diet Coke
tanka:
Projector:
Ticks
of the uptake reel
spinning alone…
story’s end wears thin
A quiet heat…
By the prison gate
lone brown napkin somersaults
forward in the breeze
Man in the wheelchair
needs his umbrella back...
sweat bulbs in my sleeves
Twilight-tinged window
scent of cooking liver
three hours to Sunday
"O, no one loves me!"
a game for my mind
woolly countless eons
One shoe, a tin cup
spoiled celery for breakfast
shadow of the church
Madman screams again
A wheel, broken
but not so you would notice
dazzles travelers
Pullman porter
sits open-handed and still
his eyes, twin spirals
Solitary breath
in the fetid men’s room
stink doctors long gone
A branch’s shadow
wavers at 3 am
over the dead lamp
The politician
says it isn’t either/or
as I hide from the storm
One dead movie star’s
One lost DVD
stains all my gratitude
at the sun’s return.
“High above it all”
depends very much, of course,
upon your staircase.
I’ve never pondered
all those other mini-mart hands
depleting Pop-Tarts.
Waving flies aside
across Green Lake Way from Spud,
blighted wood bleachers.
Campus Parkway,
the grey crane casts no shadow
swinging, silent, south.
Heart-shaped slice of pear
Watching silently
Staring at the moon
It's a shadowy light
Under which they swoon
A call erupts forth
Bouncing 'cross the world
Sweeping through empty streets
Around houses does it whirl
But nobody came
It fell hard on deafened ears
Despite the endless quiet
No one ever hears
So there's the moon, see how she flies
Across the sky that night
That hollow moon, so red and seething
For none will hear her plight