her face in the mirror
all mine not mine and
there is rust washing
to be done on old chains
in the barren playlot
she the me locking unlocking
six-paneled doors wood
of ghetto apartments
a gulag of memories jailed
rape is not right
not a right
but we, me and she
promise the no cry no more
come knocking,
come knocking
down the corridor
and i hold she as me
in our striped stained bed
crying hush to those
howling dogs of war
some times we chat all
others, silent stand tall
let gossip the pines
in trade on winds
bring on day
carry our night
bones given rain
featherfall out of sight
we gaze for winter
waiting spears...
every at thin
scrim width pale
carving night
into shadow
and moonlight
each wingbeat
of heart
rattlebone clacks
stone rumble taps
fingers at posts
point candled
for windowed
callers
On my recent road trip to help my friend Tara with her move — flying out to Alaska followed by a long drive down the Alaskan Highway and then down to Iowa — one of the things I hoped I would see was some of the wildlife… even if only via the moving frame of the car window. I wasn’t sure what exactly I might see that would be different than what I might see within the boundaries of my own state, but I was hoping to see something different.
(more…)
I am back home and I survived my 3500-mile road trip adventure. In fact this is my second day home, but I’ve been so exhausted that I haven’t been able to muster up the energy to write anything substantial. I didn’t even know how tired I was until I was about 90 miles away from home — that was when my brain gave my body permission to feel the fatigue of driving that distance in just over six days. And since (even today), I am drowsy and more interested in napping than doing nearly anything else.
It was an adventure, but if I were to do it again, I’d probably make far more stops to enjoy the scenery (at least in Alaska, Yukon and British Columbia). But we were trying to cover as many miles as possible so that we could get to our respective homes and settle back into life without have a household on a trailer for someone to muck about with in tow.
(more…)exwearsted longday
at twinight tween
fingerpast pointning of
torrestorm electricness
glowning thrumbled
ribbeling over
direly roar
there are no words
only silent slipping
between shadowed sheets
veil cast upon veil
and falling, falling
to the killing floor
pointing bones
scrawled words scrim
i toss the words to flame
under her folds
her hands
her rain
under her under
returns her rains
again
she follows rain
books upon books
entry upon entry
fusty future histories
after her storm
rain rain her rain
underwear sitting
naked skin taut and all
head weary in shivers
i don’t want the long time
i don’t want the rub
sitting in wait
for her ever
i give myself to mud
the roads all fade
in the rearview
giant painted snakes
a mumbling past
ghosting away