unearthing poems
the heart is torn open
indigo bunting and swallows
tatter the bleeding sky.
shade, slow enveloping;
earth at my feet;
it is winter.
the road is glistening with snow
two days old, stretching out.
I wait by the screen door
drowning memory impatiently
with toes across the carpet.
Crickets gestate in the early dawn,
attending summer.
Full moon rising over the wasteland,
Dry hills harbor dry souls.
Shriveling as bitter grapes,
Tangled vines planted and numbered.
Faces glimpsed but not seen.
In spaces measured by yards,
Untrodden lawns veil chasms.
Grass and rock great waters,
Lapping at shallow coral coasts.
A thousand private islands.
Hidden hearts beating alone,
Full moon setting on shared dreams.
In the grand scheme of things it is most important to make noise thats what we do get to come home and scream we make noise noise screaming we make in the glistening grandscheme of things we make noise if you don’t like the noise you make change the noise you are making bleeding spiraling thinking spinning witchcraft noise we are making in the innocent noise of noise
we
begin
to
comprehend
what
those before
have
said
Remember?
remember. remember that there is always a piece of yourself
worth thirty pieces of silver
always your self
thirty pieces of silver
remember, remember.
Follow the heart beat
learn the movement
the blood taste pulsating
live life
be life
stand. Stand Up
heaven touching earth
fingertips praying;
the space between.
We Are
We Are
WE ARE
baby born reciprocal
stand up
we are
born reciprical: peering into ourselves through epiphany, stardust, the balancd
spiralic planes dancing concentric:balancing light: balancing shade
Behold, Behold the majestic,
majestic tranquility
majestic
of yourself
tranquility
behold
tranquility majestic within
within behold
behold, the majestic tranquility
of of OF
BEHOLD
the majestic tranquility of yourself
Soft,
her eyes droop and stare,
watching my every move.
Pupils that speak a language
impossible to confuse.
I toil on my computer.
Ears
perk, jerking back
and forth,
waiting for the next move. My hands
clamor and clink!
in the kitchen sink.
Ex-
hale, her slender snout breathes in and
out with such force that I can
feel her boredom
on the back of my neck.
I sweep and mop the fetid floor.
Perched
on the rug, she observes
and wiggles her wet nose,
soft like baby toes, and
smells the trash
as it walks through the door.
Gray
Are those eyes that wonder
why I occupy my time
doing nothing, when
I could be outside
playing Frisbee.