Do bears imagine in fruit red, olive, and orange? When they crack the surface of shallow water, Stir the blue and white secrets of the dawn sky Into scatter mirrors, venus like a fired seed crashing Aquarius into blue-hot cinders, mountains blending With minutes-old light, where the memory of two Faces glanced the day behind, […]
In that tangle of poppies you can see an old world toon At war with some enemy unseen in the mist. He grasps a thin green spear and glowers. As if beyond the water of quackers he has always Wandered the world at large, sweating in the high Swaying and uncut grain stalks and dashing […]
inside the eyes an olive turns into a light bulb marbles sturgeon eggs dropping slowly to the sea floor white lamps the size of grape seeds drifted by black currents wheat grains mosquitos with stomachs honeyfilled words light smears hot as razors grazing the eyeball the horizon drops and we skate into Orion inside the […]
The sun orbits hot and loves green earth like pansies the red-tipped brush
What is the difference between sand and water When both fall through your fingers One palm wet and one hand dry One palm slick, the other brittle When gray light washes down from the mountain Like one hundred years of repetition And the water rushes over the world filling Every gap and crack and basement […]
Sumacs say that bears use their claws to divide what’s in the way, crashing at me with fear in the center, their raspberry gums blurred when the color’s wet. But each movement is many times moving. And so leaf rows become black teeth or claws, and bears become bush as they retreat into some other […]
A friend showed me what Barthes wrote about sight and continuity, without which we’d all break our noses on walls and, motionless, imagine pain as grit and red somewhere ahead: “. . . space can be constructed only from completed variations,” Barthes wrote. And so orange and olive brushed onto water by wind are instances […]
light, hot, and really windy New York’s breathing by us shouting Rhode Island down listen for those billions of letter sounds on the shoulders of dust, sliced into syllables by leaf edge and needle point. States speaking over the miles. millions of words on the hot wind as we watch the tree bend and the […]
Planting but planting what? Lily Plants itself where ever sun touches And Butterfly Bush must be cut down To at least a foot above the earth, Their purple squirrel-tail blooms Pointing accusingly to the pines With their sagging branches weighted By their meat. Grass loves growing where I love it least. In the beds, but, […]
sunlight coming and going at 6:30 PM when we’re somewhat full on what the table brought and can still feel the day’s momentum at our backs and tomorrow’s lists waiting like the breath of wind in the distance.
You could see them from the sidewalk, White jellyfish come from somewhere East, Wind-ripped at the tops like old sailors’ hair in a gale, Their cotton bottoms bloated with purple turbulence. Light chains linked them, elegance in white Disclosing some organic brotherhood, A fuse of hot and cold, a sharing unshared By those who have […]
Behind gray, green, and lilac you can make out a moon rising like a gray ball. The Murrays met the Sanchezes at the fringe where light becomes a thing that drops like seeds from the sky. They touched their palms to grain hair, parrot beaks, cold ocean spray. They felt painted, touched back by something […]
A color is always many colors just as a place is a collection of forms, oval, tipped circles of rain on a pond turned stained glass, fire in their centers. At dawn green and yellow become time. Time becomes that faint gray at the pond’s edge at sundown.
Here’s the new computer and just the beginning of a long transition. Images edited in the Gimp.
