Resistant Gosling

Resistant
gosling
to
a coal sunrise
and
a shower
of chilled water
from the rain gutter.
What little task (always unknown?)
could you have missed
this time
...any
given
time.
Pinched light from
the little kitchen window.
There will
be no
breakfast
at
the dinner table.

This day.

Schoolyard in an hour.
Mean little murmuring
shoes
and
the walk
is swollen with
young wrathful
tears.

A simple request-
beyond the peril
that pounds
from the taunts
embedded in
woodchips

To Leap.

Fallen from rusted metal bars,
with breath
searing through a
fledgling
cage…

To leap!

From
cemented booties
into the
coal
blue
sundown.

Gosling,
resistant
to
safety
as you are
and have been.
This
mornings
curses
were
destroyed
in the pebbles,
in the gravel,
as you
left
with
naked
heels
and
freshly
scabbed
knees.

These
steps
have been
sympathetically
left

to
untangle.

If and When I See You

If and when I see
You
You might be one of the trees
both straight and loping.
The tallest parts
of your California
limbs shake just
so slightly,
it sounds of paper
oceans and passing storms.
Eucalyptus!


But then I passed
The Sycamore,
and here I saw you again.
Susceptible skin
paired away
crackling
layers
on a
rouged
trunk.
Smiling.

What drove the
wrench in
though,
what cut to
the marrow
as you say
was the Giant Redwood,
always
slumbering
ever just so.

With a golden mind.
A diseased mind.

With slow amber words
that came in blazes,
You did
manage to
fold
us.

And it seemed to
take all the ages
before we could
have the
want to
see you again.

wanting
and terrified
and wonderful
in
a summer fog..

A twisted
frail necked
Cyprus
that belonged more to
what grew beyond the shore
than to the
untimely voices
of little ones.

On the land.

Raised and
sloped
and
slope

and slumber

and slumber

and rest.

Hard

These speckets of days
have been labeled as
the times the sun,
occluded by
downy nests
sat
drinking anise liquor
resignedly,
from a
hawkish
floating tumbler.

Why does her always say
why?

Below,
simpering
and right on schedule,
a chorus of peacock
kettles
fretfully
beg for
half naked
understanding.

Gloomyriders,
bundled
in
peevish
vapors
remain
unconvinced
yet
determined to fly.

Say why does him always
scream why?

Yes,
the menacing closeness
and territorial mouth
of
mechanical buffalo's
is omnipresent.

Yet,
how quickly graveled
twists
and
arrogant neeighhhhss
did
take thee down!

Record this.
Put it there.

The delicate frame,
and ready breath
forgotten in a lick
and
with a wily gesture...
...barely a gasp
the beginning
of this hardness
threads it’s eye.

Tell they,
why does them always
moan
why?

Put it down.
With a strong headwind
and icy rain pellets,
transition on the seat
and keep in
undifferentiated awareness.

Tell my then
why?
Her
is one way to
be in this mess.

Today's Soldier

Today
the wilted
cast iron
figurine
of
the soldier
sits in
stoic haste.
The soldier
is guarded
and
obscured
by oily
pastoral
landscapes,
belligerently
sequined ladybugs
and
gorgeeeeeessssss
bone china.

And they all wait,
in moments
of disarrayed
contemplation.

But the soldier waits the longest,
is passed over always,
by
the groups of
irreverent
crabs
and
the flocks
of
pale
ornery
pigeons.

After hours,
as the clocks in the walls
mumble dirty jokes,
as the porcelain
doll stills
the folds on her
satin dress
listlessly
and as the
antique
washboards,
and
apothecary
bottles
settle bets...

the soldier
keeps
in basic goodness.

With aches
that have
gathered
in his porous
spine..

Smiling,
amongst
the
carnivores.

What does it look like
to
be
strong.

The soldier
thinks:
“this is just as good
a burial place as any.”

Strong Hearted Hummingbird

Hummingbird,
Humming
bird,

only the palest
sharks should keep
with you now.
This time,
little tragedy,
you must not
forgo safe harbor.

It had been sung,
from woven perch’s
that
you were intended for
more than this
looming
sphere.

Yours
the trills
that fog
and stars
stood devoted
in
patterns
for.

leeeeettttle
lovvveeerrrrr
llleeelllyyyy
one.

Honey laced filaments,
gathered,
beating,
in
winged
agreement.


Fragrant stamens ache,
beholden.

What great resistance
it takes
not to pounce
to cradle,
to crush
a cheek
into this
alluring

talisman.

Please do-
resist,
that is.

For she has
escaped
the beaded,
portentous
fists
for this long...

and
even
strong
hearts
become
negligent
in
thorny weather.

The Sovereign's of Broken Glass

The sovereign’s of broken glass…

have been libeled
and maligned.
Their names cast about
as
coquettish flies
in
hop infused air.

Strategies
based on hypothetical
wretchedness.
Disparaging glances
towards
ripe,
threadbare
wardrobes.

Steady on
mechanical quills!
Do your duty by
these
carping citizens.
Must not forget to drop a quarter.
Hear.
And…
“Sympathy”
from afar
lest
we have relations.


Por supuesto,
best interests in mind.
But of course.

Cemented in tonsils,
sovereign's,
your invisibility is
palpable.
And no one
can
eliminate
your steps.

Sacrosanct chimes
clang
before the sun rises.
Lapis lazuli,
indigo gold,
sapphire glints and
fluorescent scented metals.

One can’t pretend to know.

Perhaps it’s just an
idyllic moment
caught,
stilled.

Gathered
in friendly hives
along the riverbanks.
Hypnotic
shhhhhhhhhhhhhh
of the concrete plants
and passing
barges.
Sharing stories of the city,
into the ears of trees.
Laying,
slumped,
or taut
amongst sweet pea
vines,
sun
bleached grass
and geese crap.

Peeking
From on high.
Saluting!
Salutations!

Mighty
compañero’s.

No Need For Ceremony

After a memory is resurrected,
slow, slow...
Quick.
The breath is discordant and
morning’s eye is hostile.
Steps that trundle as
defeated trains
enter open aired markets.

DEFIANT!

Seemingly unsolicited
we burst
into our neighbors,
releasing the
acrimonious casings
of our closest
snakes.

Whether
disguised as a vulpine dove,
or concealed
by aching masks,
we are yoked in ire.
We are
sallow
with
luxurious
boredom.

See this ship,
It cannot bear
our landscape.

And so looking to smile,
and sit,
with day laborer's,
cooling swollen eyes
in
rainwater.
If looking
to learn,

but from the humble and rare exceptions,

may we take note.

Now
and
through this famine,
may
our foreheads
become
weathered and
calloused
from
obsequious bows,
on
unsentimental
ground.

with d

little,
she can't pronounce special yet.
so it's fossil..


my fossil one,

where is my fossil one?

Want To Share Times?

Humility’s song-
can be a night of certain execution.
The air is laden with voices,
numbly hysterical,
familiar,
indistinguishable from any era.
Sentences might have shifted slightly, to compliment
today’s gilded lies.
Yet the weight of this fine collection,
these found speeches of precious cutlery
cannot hold.

And as the burden of our language,
boils and festers under rational lenses,
we can no longer afford our
bloated artillery of monologues.

And so it may go,
that as a chandelier,
unhinged and impatient
implodes and dives
at a hostile foundation,
our fraudulent declarations,
disguised as chatoyant gems
scatter,
in shame.
Then,
a wild scurry to tuck away
and hide
and hold
and hide.

Are you here?
Yes.

Well alright,
let’s try this again.

Instead of being caught in
our steady version of barbed wire,
let’s try a fresh song,
one
of curious alyssums,
shared.
...
And let’s sway,
widely,
as the most amicable of willows,
in bemused silent fields.
With
nothing
in
mind.

Tomatillo

Dearest,
They have decided not to lay cover crops this year.
Sitting outside, leaning really
against haggard bricks and a chain linked fence,
a feeling arises,
becomes clear amongst the smoke tendrils,
something akin to reverie.
There are scatterings of transparent husks, arranged according to their falls.
They perch alive,
amongst the hay, boggy compost, and molded root systems.
Collected dew clings to gossamer skin.
Opal and peridot hues take their leave from winter light; settle in a breathless touch.
This match,
frailty and strength,
have aligned with obtuseness.

…And dearest, you are not needed here.
There are no wishes embedded in the sweat of guarded palms.
No calls tethered to hopeful wings, released.
Withered vocal chords, beseeching in a cacophony of desperate prayers.

No,
none of this dear.

No voice close by,
compelled to proselytize the infallible works of god.

Just this,

Silent tomatillo, little green tomato
may I be with you?

Of the Earth's Wind

The winds have arrived,
safely again,
reminding us of our childhood nightmares.

Pale fear and violent desires coalesce,
whipped, folded, and colliding.
Colliding with concrete and trees,
that is we.

Strength in the wind, auspicious bond,
gathered like tribes over land and sea.
In close battlefields, the whispers of the trampled are carried.
Through depths of oceans, the soft lilt of forlorn shells are revealed
in the great roaring wails of the wind.

Of the earth’s wind,
we shake our fists in righteous disappointment.
Cursing the ineptitude of invisible sovereign’s,
we search as mad headless ghosts for refuge,
as if we
were not born
into
complex
ash.

The wind ,
gorgeously maiming our lucid delusions.
Nights of falling shelters and interrupted morning's.
Light of steel wool streaming through the window
in unruly blades.
What say you to our task?

Until we are able to converse with the wind…