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.

Monday, May 26, 2014

Rough Concrete on the Balcony Floor

Rough concrete on the balcony floor becomes a nostrum
to roughed hewn heels with a sweeping motion. It's bliss
to smoothly and in rhythm frisk away the grown history
of yellowing cracked age. But right now it mostly comes

on afternoons after the nap that leads to our blissy place.
Rise and sip the Sauvignon Blanc, breaking out of dreams
left in the warm dishevel of twisted sheets, a whet ream
of red blankets not yet packed.  A box waits, void space

that will hold life transported by strangers to paradise.
A couple of nights with a blanket dry-cleaned politely
last in Ocean Beach. Home then, now a shrewd devise
colored that makes a bed on hardwood floors: nightly.

Sunday, May 25, 2014

Brought a Tear

Moochy Minoan mosaics brought a set of breasts
into this picture clearly despite the tiled modesty
and the back light. Efforting to offer a mild resist
against the desire to fly ala 'The Village and I" by

becoming blue and carpet to sail above the roofies
or roofies imagined (gasp!). I just saw some perky
bits. Polka dots channeling sweet Marilyn go spoofy,
boner ensues. It's "I and the Village" you stupid jerk!

When the plaintive performs at the Ryman, tears flow:
we took our souls and flew away.

Saturday, May 17, 2014

An Umbrella Left

An umbrella in a stale room falsely returned
returns again on a lifted day threatening rain.
This umbrella opens wrongly. Its logo espied
from former hands desiring its midnight blue.

You cannot smoke in peace under this horror
a-tucked underarm and dropped later crossed
into time. A moist dilemma amplified by windy
rain, clocks gone missing, a rainbow umbrella

left behind in a wood paneled room demanded
a return to drying mechanics of open and close.
One umbrella opens first, one is last in closing;
All umbrellas rainbows, midnight wet the same