Sunday, August 29, 2010

Can I get a witness?

A rearview mirror with silver reversed

so motley reflects a bald-faced ride

of forward lusty sweaty rolls, reet slide

and how those sideview lips are pursed-

arisen, a crispy vision might have sunk

erect when almost stopped traffic

genuflects, a feast this scarlet trick,

ash ridden sackcloth firm in trunk

a purring look at me growls fantastic

preached as con jesus the holy way out

squared from grave to holy roller doubt

two short arms boxed grace cast plastic-

ask a mirror's imperfect glass to reveal

a savior's perfect hidden smirk unreal.

Friday, August 27, 2010

pounding a yog on the ammo box, 2 am

owl vibrato
over moonlit cockade blush
mimosa blossoms

Monday, August 23, 2010

a bolus of dried cranberries for coney

Bungee corded cargo caught between ditch and
the river drops into rubbery knocking rhythms
on a gravel path kicking red dust that coats
sharp oiled sprockets and chains to a province south
of brush strokes flat and grace notes rhyme:

the periwinkle glow flattened laughter
on the banks of newly sprouted fescue
calls and draws with fingers curled
hinting foreign ways in blown clouds
and thorny pink hedgerows close

near ash felled trunks mottled white,
poached giraffe hide on bank chopped
a fractal map of bark design mimicked
in bits and pieces and pieces and bits.

A gape faked for brickwork fades
and chipped red is just unpointed
mortared oil, anointing aromatic grief
with a grey feather flipping in the mulch-
scarlet leaves worm-eaten loose today
but not the sun whitened log noose hung
by denim fingers frayed in unskilled blue.

A recall of how few things are known but
to the common wise so obvious a nucleus
is small sun calico on a cool steel guardrail
and there's a perfect rock to break the black
and sink until blue under the foamy spillway:

a drowned name on a granite bench carved,
a bleached burst of plastic flowers timed
to mourn the rainbow that one arced breath-

the price of tossing that burden is somewhere
being shed enough for tears and laughter both.

Let the mind prattle to exhaustion
and you're left counting rabbits in a morphine haze-
look, there's one over there.

It's beige.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

A gift of green mussels gone

Flash of blown snow in August
an aural blizzard driven wavy
as memory mirrors one lined
lost lane to hard cracked two:

drifts mounded to sandy dunes
of seaside grass that trembles
near curtain slats partly open

five hooked fingers pull shell
to split full lips from beardless
sands tracked on nacre floors,
cooled by paneled ocean breezes
doors swollen down to aqua sea

and a sticky lizard laughs beige
at the gravity of stucco walls
gladly not to sweat the beady
orange tricks of salty summer,

the pink necklaces of blush
that fritter in the mangrove
provide cover for the titter
of bashful larks as the scrub's
unexpected scent of raspberry
envelopes an unplucked flower.

The scene not too unseasonal
to offer wry spreading frost
webbed silver in spun summer
causing flashed peaks to stiffen
with the surprise of early chill:

to trace back crash to Wednesday
in the boney script come please,
penned in aqua ink the day before,
imagined blue flats a foundation
for the invite shy of bas-relief

the wet release at lost belief,
a delight to the slippery slip
a worn cloth belt champion grey
on the frayed white damask sofa
and sliding on pearly puffy drips.

One last peak at tawny tight skin
a museum quality veneer covering
fictions and histories and exits,
one lasts as the mirror glazes

ice forward glacier white
a straight-jacket yardstick
from an under blaze heard
the swoop of three egrets four
is white down in eastern sky
and just back from the stars:

a gift of green mussels gone.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

one day your jellyroll will

One way to be in the world
is to live jerk furtive
in the quick store carpark
squat behind buick wheel
scraped and all banged in,
hungover unshaved erect,
with no pony tips to play.

Mocha big gulp balanced
on vinyl dash cracks with
your beige savior upright,
one gloss ring per bored day
making a coaster extra luxe
while spitting your dribble
onto seedy shifting carpet,
rubbed off brake and clutch.

Sneaker tongue shot eyelet
worn through daily rhythm,
enjoying only in your mind
white sweats stretched elastic
from damp plastic into trash
when the lap becomes the thighs.

Ritual light and sweet
a morning queue wait,
flapping brown packets
of sugar bulging pre-tear
next to spills of coffee
and ashes from the suck of now:

an ask never even noticed
glimmers into wasted guilt
from the gimlet of your eye.

Death wish goose limping,
invisible to chrome hoods,
tries to reach the wood
wondering how much glass
is really in this world.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

it ain't why

with no keen counter to humid flats
rose of sharon mauves in mid-august
burst in the eye's betrayal legion and

under gables feral a longing drenches
poured down panes flapped lead peels
mixt and ridden by unguttered rain

curved up on wetness sweet at splash
to poke in furtive quiet an arbor hid
of unripe grapes climbing scaling blues

unfixed to picket and pecking lark
from rolling front behind her back
chopped bug tagged his rust creep box

red caboose with curled black arrow
lined blue and green and it was good
the sprayed art of him spiked in flats

black white moonlit that snapped away
skirt stuck paisley intact from quickly
licking came pale the same curved thigh

clanged iron recoil from a pearly quiver
balled up panties by the engine track
a nacre nib in fiction so perfect fades

recorded to a wrinkly black book
in pocket shady ink on onion skin
culled smile over donuts plated plain

and peaceful rings of cooling coffee
on gray speckled veneer chipped thin
to plywood dusted sweet and low

scratching the dawn he went up swiss
got on the china horse near needle park
and not returned through alpine drifts

less days ahead than behind the bark
what happens after fade to black
is just what happens now