Never in my life
have i seen so
beautiful the sun
as when she sets
and, known, the day is done
Posts published in “Poems”
right below
the left breast
lies [beats]
the beating [the lying] heart
caught by pull of you,
many miles, behind,
push me; ‘front of you,
as stumble i
but to know the world
be still before you;
i crawl, from distance,
line’d, press’ on in
fall, running but, for you, as all;
as breeze, but motions,
cede your smile,
still’d lips, yours, by eye
when-‘ternalized, be light as laughter,
lifting weight of waiting,
we:
tomorrow, now, & after.
i will not let you down
in the longer run
,but in the quick sprint
i may up-the-fuck shit
if you wish to know
this world,
ask me
and i will ‘llow you know
what
this
means to me.
tree, a
trunk
filled,
tightly-tipped,
branched
to breeze amid
flames formed rear
of green,
layered
but to ‘flect
the unseen yellows,
breathe’ings,
all
rolled from
hydro’s friend,
oxy, gen’ un-
derstood
through
happenings,
rose but to be
known by eyes,
All,
this moving
history
let errant,
ferment
to drink in
calamity
as the brilliant blasts
scream
to be seen
as
seen be
these,
branch’d leaves..
yet all
is inter-resting
[inter-resting]
A forgetful fellow never there was,
as he made sure by day’s breaking,
never having woken to see but set
of sun; dawn n’er broke for this, a
f’otten sir remembered by his lack.
Not as though he were bothered as,
say, a more severe condition, still
he made light of it by means allied
with the logistics of a horticulture as
he, broke, bricks a reddened tomb.
In his swagger rests the sway of
confidence, if not a distaste for all
as is, for all should be as he, relaxed
to walk of shoulders, as they work
a more controlled means than legs.
Qw3l
Well,
I sit
and I tap
these keys
hoping
this
motion
follows me
across this body,
into you.
I’ve sat and watched
the wind swirl on by,
roaring in my ears
with a warning:
young man,
you are alive.
Open your mind,
open your eyes.
Break your thought
if for a moment
to picture
who I am,
your Lord
and your Savior
and your Lover
and your Father.
I am your Mother, Son,
and your Follower.
Bring to them
they who wish to learn
as they are learning now
a way unknown to me.
There is a spot
within the head,
within the chest,
where all are
as babies, caught,
wanting.
Fill their needs, My Scribe,
fill their needs
so they may know
and they may see
who I am:
your Lord,
your Savior,
your Mother,
your Father,
and your Son.
just as you pass,
i stop in walk
to ‘llow you rush over me;
your touch,
from distance, calmed
to cool the skin
as heart, rising, rises in cage
for feel of you.
your shadow-movement,
motioned a’top and ‘neath
the hands, the palms,
knucks, forearms,
cheeks, face,
body-whole.
i
inhale you,
hoping fore to know you i
may hold you inside,
filling lungs and chest
and cavity of the mind
with what radiance
you wash the skies..
i exhale,
pushing me from me to you,
from pit of lung and chest,
vitality of mind,
as, crushed, the cage collapses
so to ‘llow
my wind play ‘mongst yours
so you may know me same.
He reaches to her.
She shakes him off and walks away.
His head lays limp to clavicles
and he walks the other way.
She shouts something he cannot hear
from across the room, but
he’s already deep within himself
again.
A draft falls, sideways, across him
and he lowers his shoulders to the floor,
knees bending so as not to break,
and his heels lift off.
Giving him his distance, she
feels she’s done right by him.
Why should she behave any differently
than he has? Is he really that upset?
Why is he curling up on the floor?
He leaks insanity like a steamy pipe.
She continues walking, changing her
alignment so to walk against the wall.
Perhaps a door in this room will show itself
before she meets the tightness of a corner.
He raises his head to wipe his nose
with collar of his shirt.
She follows his movements, hoping
he’s alright. She breathes.
He tucks his head between him and
the floor again, hoping she
doesn’t see him. He holds his chest
with lungs, inside, so not to cry
anymore.
She moves her face but not her eyes from
him. She opens her lips, saying
silence across the room.
He collects himself, staying on the floor
in hopes she moves so he may counter
without falling prey to their bonds.
She turns her eyes, breaking from
the stagnant air and he moves,
settling to a squat. She breathes.
He gives her his breath as all
he has and she breathes in.
He waits for her to release
him from her lungs,
though he wishes stay.
She laughs.
He tilts his head, looking
to her as though she jabbed
a knife into his abdomen.
She widens her lips
and bares a bit of teeth.
He raises himself in her smile,
heels flat against the floor.
She turns her arm so palm
lays flat, outstretched
towards him.
He runs to her. She
welcomes him.
At the request of the murdered boy’s parents, the crowds
walked silently and without signs of political affiliation
with respect to the family and the individuals involved,
this is the most moving display of humanity i’ve witnessed.
80,000 people walking, together, for one movement, for one
reason, without anything between them but camaraderie and
peace.
anger isn’t the best way to cope with loss, it’s just
a selfish way. what way is able to show those responsible
for a heinous act how the community and a nation feels?
killing them alone? hurting them alone? or showing them
the world they know is not behind them, but together
against them and those who condone or would repeat their
actions– that the world is together, away from them,
both in remorse and in presence?
See http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4936990.stm for the full story.