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Upon Hearing of an ICE Raid: we want the country back

We want the country back.


America feels like a cornered rat

trembling savage

desperation spilling

like rabid light

from frightened eyes

gone flight now only fight

time stopped

avenues of escape blocked


desperation becoming bullets

fear becoming cages

heat waves of hatred

trapped in terror

paralyzed in pain

America feels like a cornered rat


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A circle starts somewhere

Primordial and ecstatic

A spirograph of hidden design

A Mandala of movement


And we dance


Hopscotch and double dutch we dance

Fractal orbits we dance

Following the songlines of creation

We dance


Concentration, inspiration, presentation

Musical intonation

Counting with our heart

The sound of our feet

While the always int...

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Crawl of the Caterpillar

If a butterfly decided
that it wanted to be a caterpillar
that it regretted its metamorphosis
that it would trade its powdery winged symmetry
for a few more hours or days of blind gluttony
arboreal mastication
that it did not want to flutter gracefully
admired desired
but to slowly gelatinously contract 
along rough barked branch
to be more slug than swallow
more mundane ...

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At Noon

the long-legged shadow woman
then suddenly stopped
and waited
to be dissolved in darkness
where she could peel away 
her black stockings 
to reveal and revel
in her naked invisibility
and dance without limitations
of time or dimension
dream beyond the flat surfaces
which so often held her form
forcing conformity
to their inclination
desire the depth of rounded space
orbits ...

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a little brown and white garter snake

lay on my brick floor

brought in by the cats

I picked it up to take it outside

and it lay still


it's markings were southwest woven

rugs from painted desert roadside stands

smooth and cool on my hand

tiny cloverleaf head

ended two spiral curls

of cool gauzy beaded rope


there are no signs of life

in small brick-baske...

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free-verselife and deathredemption

Washed Away

I had a poem

elemental in emotion

wind was anger

waters were tears

something precious was lost

like a necklace in the ocean

it was the work of time and pain

words said that couldn't be unsaid

unspoken thoughts that burned

not like embers but walls of flame

pondered but not ponderous

almost whimsical

like that remembered perfume scent

I had it in my pocket 


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Out the Door Medicine

Out the Door Medicine

First goldfinch of the season flushed 

from unmown grass 

along with other finches sparrows

and chipping chickadees 

southwest they mixed 

ones with steady quick beat 

and the gold with her push and pause 

push and pause 

as though she were giving birth to flight 


and the berries not black 

still mixed in with blossom 

green with brown...

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House of Feathers

The feathers on the house are owl's

silent striated wing feathers

tucked into tile and rough cedar siding

the house is nocturnal

windows wide-eyed unblinking

sentient while others sleep while

full moon also wide-eyed unblinking

sees gathered clouds passing over

the moss on the roof is thick and quiet

bathing in rain and mist and fog

gathered clouds are also quiet


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dreamsfree-versemagical realism

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