Night Clouds
I crash land into the heart of summer.
Avocados and chocolate save me for a moment.
Waiting for cold fronts
I watch the hours drain away
into the gold sinks of evening.
The cicadas turn to dark crystal one by one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A sheaf of dark grasses.
A door half open to the dawn.
I clutch frantically at moons
through an endless cusp of ancient shadows.
Windows turn grey with rain,
I taste rust and peach,
my ghost already haunts
the river bottom.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The thick light of old paintings
pours from the stairwell.
The ghost of pink roses lingers
in the dark beyond the porch.
I look straight up into a cat's face,
and behind it, the moon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sam
alone with death
I think of wine and silence
skin of cool milk
mist of angel's breath
while lungs and woodwork rot
and hallucinations rise
from pools of boiling ink
spiders and silverfish
eat the world
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Still glass of evening.
Gold whispers from some other sky.
fall across the sparkling worlds.
I suck on the throat of beauty
before unending dreams
end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hours thicken
with cocoons of water. Time unweaves
the same words, layer after layer.
The air suddenly fills with silver gowns.
The tongues of women glisten everywhere,
a hand beckons to me from inside a tree.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dark sylph, made of river-light.
Jewelweeds quiver at your slightest breath.
Door after door of mist opens out of you.
I lick the air,
and murmur under the shadow of your tongue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I look down
the litany of moonlit streets,
the endless silent rant of sky and concrete.
Scraps of paper flare up in the gutters.
Pine needles burn themselves into the eyes.
Morning is still a million miles away.
There is too much of everything everywhere.
I listen carefully for the voice of the voiceless.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pages gather the dark dust
of old fantasies,
of lace and laudanum, blood
and white skin.
People still move in photographs, and
I'm still being chased by disembodied hair.
Doves and giant machines
fill the air with unreadable omens.
A cicada's wing falls from nowhere.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ancient raindrops
whisper on ancient windows
of dust and lamplight.
Staring at the bedroom ceiling,
I think an hour has passed, but
no, only twenty minutes,
and the image of two mouths meeting
won't leave me alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cool morning late July
a sea-breath at the cusp of things
goldness receding across the room
alchemy of salt, breakers at night, heron shadows
and at the edge of life
avocados and silence
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Between the smoke-tree
and the rowan
we hid our wishes.
We made paper
from
our dreams
and
ink from our
astonishments.
We drank coffee
on the moon
and we danced.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a
stillness
hangs
in the dead streets
mist and moonlight
a sighing in the pines
the town floats on nothing
a breath of rose
drifting
on a tendril
of
your words
a white poem
fainting
on
the skin
of
the
poem
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
night-clouds
filled with the town's light
float over this dream
of white cats
and your body
the sun
is still an hour away and
moist lilies fill my mind
with
haikus of crystal and
red lacquer
someday I think soon
the moon will
blacken
the coffee cup
will fall from my hand
and
turn into the stardust
of
an August night
long,
long ago
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I feast
on the dark salts and hoarfrost
of memory, while
the rain beats against the alabaster of dreams.
Pages sigh.
My ghost flutters under a pink skirt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The katydids are everywhere.
Bells ring between clouds.
Crows stagger in the pine branches.
I wish I was drunk.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I boil in my skull.
Waves of childhood surge up
out of the margins of the pages.
Windowsills seethe.
The eyes of dogs follow me everywhere.
I scribble across the days
these half written poems,
in search of new inks
to describe the death cries of the cicadas.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gnats and mushrooms appear
in dank corners.
A centipede scurries for the bathtub drain.
The carpets are alive with insect ghosts.
The apartment rots faster and faster,
trying to keep up with me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I crave pure sleep, pages of silk,
a drinking spree on Mercury.
I watch from behind curtains,
helmets, dragonfly wings.
The blue earth is on fire.
Alien nights fall
on a lattice of words.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Childhood dreams of myth and glory
became the need
for something just a little sweet
once a day.
Flakes of gold fall
onto everything
from the luminous eyes
of the tree frogs.
That night, billions of stars
powdered the trees.
Woodnymphs brought clear wine
and kisses of snow.
Crickets laid the eggs of all
my future poems.