anti-gravity

he wants to talk seriously
of outer space, carry
free will
and lunar axes
like shoulder-weight angels

i am wry and restless,
drive the baby's toy car
up his fidgeting leg

my gaze narrowed
to the

infinitesimal

Speaking Tongues

the little moan fills my head -

continuous hornet-rasp, 

the off-kilter whine 

of wires lost underground

you can read anything 

into a cloud-darkened sky;

omen is a pretty word

this growl, low and tight

as a bone caught in the throat,

lays flat 

               an empty staircase

but simmers every wall 

in the house with its pungency

Friday the 13th

two-faced morning,
dazzling winter sun
over the flat cold creep
blackjacking temples.

the gurgle and roar
of cars expiring
mid-intersection,

the holler of men
carving up streetcorners.

amid strewn salt
strange detritus
frozen into the sidewalk:
rubber bands
childish slips and omens.

a sparrow lost
in the hollow room of night:
she bares her throat to the ground
arrow-straight, empty,
a warning
of claws in my gloved palm.

inside
I scrub my hands,
the water too cold, too hot.

found poem, August 25

crowns, hands, gaskets, crystals

Dervish

dervish

eyes sealed

amid the grit

twirl, howl

head bent low

hands hoisting

unfavorable skies

shake down walls

to crumbling clay

tie your hands in knots

pound tunnels

into the hard earth

and vanish

from this land 

Quick Fix

A quickie poem inspired by Writing Exercise #99 by Rachel McKibbens. 



Fix


Fix your face, she snapped, her nerves a rat's nest of chewed wires

Fix this stale house, this persistent onion smell

Fix the broken crib, baby death rattle in every toothless coo

Fix the cat’s meandering litterbox snub

Fix the ominous car-engine thud

Fix the crumbling cement wall, spitting stones onto the sidewalk

Fix the plate I dropped when anger loosened my joints

Fix my torn back, pinched nerves, feet cramped into useless clubs

Fix my thundering ire, my soaring disgust

Fix the way I perch on the tip of a needle

Fix the day I lost weeping in bed, sky swallowed by black

Fix how we never close our eyes at the same time

Fix the paperthin void that remains between our palms when we clasp hands

Fix my broken arms, how they push when they should embrace

Vernal

Sparrows tear the slender yellow grass
and fold it between their wings.
Dogs snuff the chainlink corners,
matted thatch and loam churned
by an army of awakened nematodes
and the polearm thrusts of crocus.

The bluesky battle
of ice-borne breezes
over warm soil,
melting river water
muddying the thawed banks.

Across the city, birds of prey
dredge gravel trenches and squat,
between thunderclaps birth
mottled eggs, sea-green or onion skin stained,
dried and cooled in the curve of
skyscraper airstreams.

The spit of snow
on feathered shoulders,
lace-edges bronzed with the curl
of strong sunshine.

Our legs move in tandem;
mine bear us across scuffed bridges
while yours turn and stretch,
warm in my nest of blood.
The hand of winter, elegant fingers,
lingers on the pulse of my throat
but I exhale, beware, bewitch,
coax my heart to speak spring
into our twined souls, 
reveal our knotted roots, sipping
from the same stream.