Thursday, February 14, 2019

A Natural Method For The Continued Care of Serpents

Love is a basket of snakes
with a rose in the middle.

Hooded gifters
sway as if they were
love notes in a medium breeze.

At last,
no smile moves me.
Clocks are calm.
My bed in the ambulance bay rots sweetly.

You, child, appear with your flute
and say,
"There it is, that lovely basket woven 
from beauty and perfection of motion."

You suppose me cold--oblivious
to my body's mosaic
of half-healed crescents
and their poultice of old poems, stupid with shock and palsy.
______

for this.

Wednesday, February 13, 2019

Buffalo Jesus

Buffalo Jesus
has large kind brown eyes
on either side of His enormous shaggy head.

Buffalo Jesus
has horns and cloven hooves
but is the anti-devil; His huge heart 
pounds slowly, steadily, with Love. 

In all weathers,
Buffalo Jesus is stoic and still.
When you stand before Him,
He is larger than you imagined, powerful and fine.

He speaks:
"From the many: One."
From slaughter and stupidity,
A Savior who sheds his heavy coat in Spring
and lifts His head toward the freshing blue of Heaven.

You, in the brokerage firm,
the mega-church,
the soup kitchen
and the bullet train,
hear this Prophecy:

the plains will thunder again.


Saturday, February 9, 2019

Sensation Of

The sensation of
a fly
on your arm
where the little hairs look like
wheat in the sun

a little fly
puts its tongue
where your lover
put his tongue
where the little hairs look like
sunbathers on a beach.

The sensation of
a breeze
makes the fly depart
and you 
stay there til evening
like an unfinished book
that can breathe.
_____

for this.
 
 

Sunday, February 3, 2019

Handbook For Cubist Poets In The Afterlife

The shocking air over the courtyard couldn't care 
less about your love notes
scrawled on shed skin for the cherub with the
shopping cart hat to cream over. 

Outside the window is an invisible tight rope for cripples--
step out on it, own Icarus with spread arms.
Flying orphans bones but
favors updrafts, UFO's, sundogs.
_______

for this.

Thursday, January 24, 2019

Open Mic Strategies

I hired a chick to manage my throat,
clear out the traffic, search bags, correct the syntax.

I keep all I have to say in an Altoids tin--
I rattle it.
Dark-eyed Juncos desert the barista's hair. 

I worked on my voice for all these years,
with a straight job on the side--
now I keep it tucked in my boot, kissing leather. 

I hired a chick to sleep on my lips,
reclining like a bad-ass movie star.
Every time I lick my teeth the sun comes up,

a poppy in my coffee, black.
_______ 

another one, for this.

 

Stanzas Of Ipecac

Stanzas of ipecac
because I had been poisoned
right from the first formula Mama boiled til it bled.
Poisoned,
but I didn't
die
didn't
die
refused to
die. 

Stanzas of ipecac
because I couldn't stomach
being a corporate wife or honcho
as prescribed in the pages pulped from the family tree.
Poisoned,
but I wouldn't
dance
wouldn't 
dance
refused to
be a puppet on a string.

Stanzas of ipecac
because I fell in love 
with him, with her, with words, with God
as revealed to me by a stand of trees or sly soft lips.
Drunk on the stuff,
I had to
sing
had to
sing
had to
scream and whisper my fool self hoarse. 

Stanzas of ipecac
because stones and monsters and worlds grow inside me
and the first thing they want,
the thing they all desperately want,
the only thing they want
is out.
_______

for this.
 

Saturday, January 19, 2019

Apres Vous

I don't know what you're driving now,
but once,
I did--
and saw it everywhere.

I don't know who you're loving now,
but once,
it was me--
and that was everything.

Sometimes, still,
I see your skin, your hair, your walk,
but now
it's a blank-faced stranger.

I don't remember your body's scent
but once,
I did--
and it blessed me, in that hour only lent. 
________

keeping it simple, sweetheart, for this.