Poetry Blogs (2020, crowbars and where to find them)
IT IS A DAMNING BLOODLESS TIME TO BE ALIVE AND IN LOVE
CIRCUMVENTING TURTLE DOVES
AT THE SPEED
in a wake of what roves
what undulates beneath the wreaths of painted doors
in front of what should be a door step
instead lays the view
from half way down
approaching the abyssal zone
and here we float
an echo in the deep
amongst echoes in the deep
Saturday 15th February 2020 12:55 am
this old couch
a rested place
of day dreams :
A sanctum for the spittle of birds
breaking in with the early dawn.
and each window, in the winter
a mouth of frost,
vignettes of cold rolling thru the glass with ease
i can feel my breath on my teeth
heating and cooling these tines
tuning truths on a good day
hoping for just
white lies on all the rest :
mild discomforts, acid...
Saturday 25th January 2020 2:23 pm
I knew someone that was all torn up about my having people comment on some of my works as a poet, tearfully saying "everyone loves you as you are."
Not everyone does.
But Id like to think I appreciate the ones that do.
And as I got older, my tools for sussing out who didn't got sharper
or maybe im just a likeable person
or maybe I don't fixate on the parts of the world I cann...
Friday 17th January 2020 2:36 pm
A last letter
Like everything that cut me, deep and true, just follows the same long-dead scars, now -- the underground tunnels of being run thru, over and over again: overfilled with joy, burdened with hate, crippled with fear, twisted by love.
now there's just a body, and I live with it, and there's a sequence of events that happens to it that are resolved in chronological order.
Tuesday 4th June 2019 2:16 pm
percolated upon the brows
of fallen kings:
that we descended like spiral staircases
wherein every step
suspicion creaks like bone
we are unknown
a swath of heads
taken, cackling in the streets
bobbing in gutters, downwind and downgrade
before meeting Death;
pummeled and pestled
squashed, pressed into mortar,
Saturday 20th April 2019 3:55 pm
A truth born of molars:
people are fickle and their feet will stake them, always, in fairer weather. They do this as our ungulate friends do: grazing from pasture to pasture.
We re hard-pressed, in life, to find people who move through the action of their eyes, upright and ahead, instead of the idleness of shuffling feet; we are hard-pressed to find people who act on principle instead of out...
Tuesday 12th March 2019 12:21 am