March 24, 2016

her water wears my stone/ leaves marks mirrors like to see

she gives rain altars 
in a neck art nude 
from any town 
prosperous in elegance 
places that say 
when you enter here 
just so know 
we are both 
trying to live

perhaps one muse is enough 
but I am greedy me, you see 
I was born bargained for then rejected 
for a never did seem content with me 

what was I bent with
and would I come 
with you carrying 
pocket pocket peruse 
mining the acutes 
from all my obtuse

and now that Spring is here 
I'm serving drinks to Demeter
wearing north winds with 
empty mason jars for mirth 
to drink while we greet 
her daughter who sometimes rides alone 
an entire song, commercials too 
while wading life's bones 
from the feast loam pantry 
music weight petals are falling 
crawling the skies as if beaches 
as souls do, here on Earth 

outside the town of Skaneateles 
I remember an ice cream stand 
along the southwestern part of the lake 
it has had this intoxicating timeless transport effect
that sends me back to the mid 1970's 
ever since I could report 
or retort or resort to poetry 
as a way to think or
to understand, beneath things 
is where I wear my moorings thin...

I imagine while in line here too 
there is a long seemingly endless series 
of mouths that are ever hungry 
for you as well 

how is it you feed them 
without diminishing 
your own stores 
is it silos in the dark 
cloaked cavity plush regards 
pieces beyond the light 
so that each plight 
is given semblances 
and provisions 
enough to believe 
the quest is 
at least attainable 
on their terms 

is your purity of myth 
and narrative perception 
how we are dressed 
in the windows 
of your observations 

am I mannequin harlequin 
or pagliacci or any sin 
you can feed 

there is no need 
to always be grotesque, you whisper 
I'm just outside the reach of glass not broken 
here is a hammer take a swing
unseen imagination 
is doing tricks 
corner to parlor 
holler to scholar 

but you were want to take leave 
and said so as you arose 
too much of me I suppose 
does make one sick 
and there is no infirmary  
interstellar travelers lodge 
for a mending respite  
despite any of your artistry...

the Moon is already smitten 
with someone else 
a little prince 
and all the stars 
are scars and tombstones 
so I suggest 
you s tart 
me within...


I look and leap 
with spoon to peek 
at what cow seeks 

was it what I wanted 
that something to put there 
above the barn I swear 

above the cupola sat 
a weather vane of copper 
wide hips suckling atop her

of course she was right 
I could be flat broke and drunk 
and s till see that dropping 
my esses were these dresses 
I wanted her in and out of 
as if she were a painting or
a portrait of what I wanted 
everything to be like 
when I woke up 
from dreaming  
about her...

I purr, pearl knit and pray that 
I really get to feel your ass 
and not necessarily nude 
yoga pants can do the trick 
ivy dock dick-er-y brick 
and mortar cages fade life 
to a patina here, scent of sagebrush 
minstrel eyed myriad(s) 
birth swarms of hoppers 
seasoning the fields 
teeming to burst 


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