Blame it on the inkling

When I threw myself from the balconey
it was not overtly in jest
but I laughed about it later
over foie gras with my neighbor.

Just outside the door

An echo of loud blossoms blasts white insistent chimes
and lost Westminster resounds in a pink memory of time
ticked down grey granite walks where clocks neatly wound
call back rainy centered smells of a paradise moistly found.

Tented under the peppermint boil one can easily fear the cure
that some say scalds but those voices raised in steam cry rain
and the time I almost found you missing came but near assured
over a mist of Avalon condensed that neatly kissed the drain.

Not so many gods

The rocky shore of blue cloud sunrise
lifts salty breath to other orange shores
where purple breaks stroke faces wet
and the gull's white cry whirls pure.

I found things he used in a weathered shed
and rusted used in cold rain hard beside
the wet earth and sweat and handle's bled
that married slick life to a harrowed bride.

Inland brown and headland teal and green
might not be as orthogonal as they seem
unless a scripture writ on the color of birds
is comically altered in a headstrong world.

Six ways to cop a feeling

i. Never let go regardless of time


The clasp is fast, the clasp is slow
the clasp is colored mostly bone.


ii. I saw an opening that lasted for a second


Happy, happy before the clock strikes 
and the minute ebb recedes your joy.


iii. Place and time can fool you with uncanny vibrations


The spidery marble table top restricts position
and distracts with veins of black and orange.


iv. Sorry for the pie face, I thought you'd be amused


How gauche to speak of motors when your swept hair
is streaked with omelets voiced in silver and black.


v. Then I looked in the mirror and saw the code


Two dashes disturbed a periwinkle flitter
that almost rose in a memory of dots.


vi. I hear every word you say


I watched your wet lips speak a subtle truth
and, despite the chimes, had to pay attention.