November 22, 2015

vibrating shuttle, bobbin driving

vibrating shuttle, bobbin driving 

seams sewn and re-sewn 
memory is mostly imagined 
over and over 
on that singer 
machine black 
gold painted enamel over iron 
there is a rhythm here 
a certain look back 
fabric nostalgia 
woven white noise 
loom hemming something 
in a peddle push 
big fly wheel poem...

the old river valleys 
seem unseemly when given over 
to forgetting what's beneath 
what shines 
shadow says 
I love slippery clay 
and shale 
old pines...

tripping back 
and forth 
in an old 
sewing machine

it is always 
1903, some reason 
I like that year 
it parses 
into four 
maybe it's 
coded click 
ritual wear 
wobble release 
though we know 
is rising

binary star 

Solstice snarls, 
where the jagged 
fingers are pushed up, 
pines left reaching 
for the out of sight(s)

yeah this, brown dwarf 
entropy teething 
making modernity 
backward come-uppances 
the shit greed leaves behind...

we know, crass cynicism, says 
you want to know why
la Befana took too, to the air 
sweeping dusty exhales 
to the sea as rain 
December Saturnalia, 
feats, feast, fools 
snow maybe, 
cake and fava bean 
lord of misrule
these tippled hair 
dare exhale mountains, when
combed close enough 
to where Krampus roamed
may just understand 
tide bleeding and 
a strided smiled wickedly 
Pan companion-ed collection
of what balances 
what Saint Nick 
funnels beneath us
in a chattel gluttony...

you see, the scent 
of a street side at night 
is a raw beauty daring 
us the when and the why 
we realize, there is always 
a moment of discovery, waiting 
there, then is a now too 
a noun even though 
harder to come by 
seems I have run 
out of room...

and you want 
to get another drink 
like I am leaving you to do...

reed and 
to time...

seems like racquetball now
vodka, lemonade 
maybe some crackers too
where what wonders why 
yeah, parcheesi, I liked that game...


1 comment:

  1. My word, your poetry is enthralling. I so look forward to reading your work.