Sunday, October 26, 2014

Jonesing for an impression

A white chorus out of focus in a shadowed hallway,
a chanted cadence creeping out of dun but seized-

hymn singing sealed in search of hanged man ferns
beneath an ecstasy and a blurred floor and between

two walls. The mode is mysterious under soft ivory
arched ceilings in three dimensions this is only two,

so which face is blurry and which the sharp invert
so framed. What is done so hazy is but frozen blue.

Sunday, October 19, 2014

One late autumn afternoon sings its own silent blues but it was morning too

A brief walk past the now that vanished
under leaves not quite curled to orange

leads to a plaza where cold statues trick
wet eyes by merely sitting. Weird to rush

by at sundown, trying to elide shadows
cast by yourselves statically unchanged

in movement. A whisper says you only
live thrice, a rushing lie turns to stone

on a brief walk, passing the vanished now.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

A Romantic in the Tropics [sic]

The lower clouds scowl by with a grey alacrity
scooting under a white grim cirrus stasis. If an
explanation is desired, a stiff froze front claims
to say what's wanted to be said: a gecko's shed

will have to do, dry skin on a concrete and taupe
brick esplanade is its own excuse for being sunny.
Quick now! There is oleander for hiding but only
if you hurry: a proud red bloat is paradise enough.



Saturday, July 26, 2014

Kandinsky in a mirror

Red candlelight blown
by frozen air, window snow.
In mirror: Kandinsky

Sunday, July 20, 2014

View from a panic resolved

It must have been a window with cracks from then.
Blue and light green glass offer a blurred salvation

with open arms. In the sky, reflections in the mirror
say otherwise. Simple binoculars birth a Gemini foci

to blur the truth. A fluorescent chartreuse triangle but
mums the word. Crying is an cold way easily ducked.

That leap would do but oh! the crunchy crunch below.

This gray afternoon will have to take care of itself,
with a deep inhale I might just swallow the clouds.

Sunday, June 22, 2014

No expert available

Mahoganies from an era you can't remember arch
and sometimes surrender towards the lake of fake
swans peddled repeatedly in an endless rudderless
muddle. If there is an expert in the house, place a

call, please. Pleistocene branches seek the water of
life. Hard to argue in thirst. Stop, shoot from angles
unexpected. There through the leaves not really black
a pattern is seen. What does it mean? We do not know.

Sunday, June 8, 2014

Crossing the cross with crossed lines

Winning tickets never cashed sent in cold transit
across the black river via mail stamped just now
bring golden joy. A thousand white numbers clog
up a wronged call list, too hard of hearing for late

offers when six digits are weak, ten way too strong.
When we left, he left too, purplest shiner a coffin &
all too much, unanswered phone calls also too much
for any to bear. A power of attorney can help grasp
the littlest tear of all. You can take my money now

but you can't take that one thrilling moment long ago:
when sunset sea-breezes whispered all I need to know.