August 13, 2008 – 2:42 pm
What is there behind color a restiveness portents of faces outlined merely by touch the color of palms nerve worlds with the consistency of trachea or sand or birds trilling against the moon’s chill or confidence raising a fist to the burry wind listen the pines efface a brooding sky
August 12, 2008 – 5:53 pm
How like a poem or a painting a tree is. The shake of the wind through the little worlds, how they never stop moving. Watch a leaf (or coral) for an hour and you’ll swear you see blood or itches, waves goodbye or wringing of hands. The veins protrude like distorsio ribs, prickles on a […]
August 11, 2008 – 12:25 pm
When you go deeper the fish turn from black to raspberry she said on a different occasion. We met under a tree. Her hair white, she (maybe too) aware of sea bubbles at the momentary brush of the wind. The crabs in the trees taste like apples. The roots in the ground absorb memories the […]
August 10, 2008 – 7:48 pm
The old woman saw multiples of color in the river braids. White more so, he said, sitting by. There, like stitching needles under the birds. Hearts, she said. I saw a man glide mist-like, bearing his red muscle across the river. You wont see his prints in the mud where frogs thread through the weeds. […]
in that crack between the colors a gnat moves against the wet of a squirrel’s eye and makes green, charcoal, and the dyes that erect motion on the edge of a leaf, where water drops roll, reflecting the real curve of planets we wonder over and need for navigation without circles blind squirrels will scratch […]
The pine said to the stone you are so low and I’m so high. The stone answered but where’s your weight, you hang like a grace note, weightless, longing for shadow cast on the water. You grasp like a child for a whale’s eye passing deep between the sea birds.
I disembark in a different country with a nagging language At my back, clever, persistent, sometimes pungent, abundant As the fur of seals, orange as fire leaves on unfinished land masses. At night I rode from panthers, vampires, swore that those Clicks at my back bike wheel had to be lycanthrope Teething for my neck. […]
A stone saw his image in the pond and was sad because he couldn’t see what he’d been told–a crystal blister, a prophet’s face in amethyst, crows assembling from orange rind and storm. He turned to the sky, found a million lights racing, and he was glad because the light had his back no matter […]
The man who could fly beat his wings above the bush and took the best close-up of a butterfly ever snapped or so he wanted. But the butterflies, the hummingbirds, the wasps were unimpressed. With their beaks, song, and stingers, they poked and stabbed and lunged, called for reinforcements: poked, stung, and lunged. The man […]
We found a man under a beech tree. We could sense air in this chest and his feet gave hints of motility, the articulations of sprints to come. He blinked his eyes like a bird but made no sound other than breath. He was covered with ants the size of watermelon seeds, black as wasp […]
This day the rain comes with a rhythm in minion with the movement of boats lashed on the mauve river. Two boys flee the court, slapping shoulders at the touch of oceans in cycle, something warm waiting at home on the stove. The little boils are like crowds rushing from catastrophe, granulated countries falling remote […]
Oh, how can I tell the perfect things I’ve invented, for telling the perfect thoughts I’ve found destroys my arrows, slices with little razors the inside of my throat so that the stomach beneath, the heart of courage and sorcery, fills with water aggressive as lemons. The poet hunts enemies with symbols, stamps, old women, […]
I hear cries, parts of old and timorous song above the lissom, mint-tinted boats. Morning clouds tear at the trees. Maybe I’m a wind that blows East. I pick up voices, green leaves, gift ribbon. In my stomach I carry a copper bell, two giraffes, and a dragon who says nothing lasts or stays found, […]
I wonder about this fly, on a leaf in the garden, how he lets me bring the lens in close and goes a thousand times blind in an instant from the flash. Light imputes open doors, a means of escape from the unknown or unknowing, carves sacrilege into the hard skin of books. The fly’s […]
She said see the grass turn down stream, how the crow assembles out of the shadows in the eye of a fish at dusk. She said a bush is always grasping for water underground. Every movement is many times and places moving away, accruing, up the page. It’s not a riddle but a verb, she […]
