Posts for June 2, 2020 (page 7)

this sapling’s brittle lips yet shells reshaped,
some thorned compulsion pressing
ponderously into succulent sands,
each grain could uncoil with whimsied warmth,
would coldly recoil in densities restless—

every ambered ember braving
daily, breath by lurid breath, 
what whetted intensity,
breathless immensities smoldering  
nacreous, snaking, vast, refulgent,
hapless, glory-lathed realgar, ochre,
eosin lithe and deepening:
autumnal canopies crowding cloudless azure
stars once stoked to unplumbable pyres—

fires cribbing husks and cradling hulls;
some brittle, pellucid placenta
harts found fleeing freely through
these sorrel curls and tyrian tresses 
trunks, our hearth had yet transposed
to azure ghosts and griseous embers, 
slough to mark their mounting rings,
rough remnants of those countless trysts
with winter’s wolves and summer’s pips;
this vividly sun-freaked caul recalling
molten mirrors hearts contuse
and roil in lissomely tender laps,
wet wrinkles lapsing smooth and grooveless;
bruises breakneck rains retrace,
long ribs that ripple firm and rare
that solely formless silence slakes—

such supple, pellucid placenta racked
upon pale prongs a hart must brattice;
horns that Harvest, hunched in heaving
high its lithe and leaden crescent,
strings with the shimmering strum
most chittering bats must swell with,
sucking sweetened, succulent pith
and pips their pulp-pale stool sails silently rootward—
Know then:

Placidus’s ghastly scowling god
seems evermore a smear of worming earth. 
Our star denies its darkness,
some may deem some soddenly thoughtless clot.
It harbors in its heart all vernal songs
and smoldering autumnal leaves;
one dark and brittle clot recalls
each sprig it was and once more
still each stock and lock it ever thus 
and still again shall be and be—

rocking on front porch
loud racket before rain
cardinal, bluejay, robin 

rock climber pauses
scopes out the ragged rock face
breathes deep like dragon

young man wrecks bike
bloody kneecap and thumb
hide it from mother

I remember snow
pilling thick on douglas fir
cold white pajamas    

around the curved bend
take a right on Crescent Bay
an oyster farm welcomes you

they make pottery
at Tater Knob, it’s about
10 miles down Blue Lick

The warm blue cuts an arrow around the adjacent roofs
And the trickling zephyrs bring a melody to my throat

This kitten who coddles me both day and night
Stops me short with a Flop upon the floor
amid the wandering rolls of her cast-away hair, the pilling of her dry-clean only pajamas. It’s made clear I am to pet her now.

I have acquired nearly 50 wood frames today, and wrote a few songs, so I can’t say I’ve been useless. A longing is now quenched to clothe my painted children in blue and gold, while wondering at the coolness the colors bring in the tones. The lifting lightness of the breeze sings like young nuns escaping the abby.

I am humming
Dancing with the secret, hidden wildflowers, the spiders waving long and striped stockings.
Refreshed through my skin and eyes as if taking the first drink after a long time imprisoned.
The drape of the day mingles in color and dancing 
Soft and light as awakening from sleep.

It is easy to say
that violence is not the answer,
harder to heave all the questions
up from beneath the smooth green lawns
on which our houses sit.

It’s too long…
    since my eyes feasted
    on the welcome sight of a friend before me,
    since my shoes tasted 
    the pavement of streets beyond my own,
    since my hands treasured
    a glass of cheap beer at a bar,
    since my mind swallowed
    information unpolluted by anxiety.
They’re too long…
    my eyebrows begging
    to be waxed,
    my scattered split-ends screaming
    for an overdue cut,
    these afternoons entertaining uncertain children longing
    for friends and a sense of normalcy.
Too long…
    these restless nights of fitful sleep haunted
    by ghosts standing closer than six feet,
    these meetings on Zoom forcing
    me to mute my voice and my emotions.
It’s all too long…
But I am afraid.

And tired.

And all I have is time.
    

I forgave you today.
Not because you wanted me to. 
Not because you deserved it. 
Not because I’ve forgotten what you did. 
I forgave you in order to get one step closer to forgiving myself. 

Old man,

with a touch so quick and gentle
he soothed the ears of his listeners
by playing a melody on
a spider’s web 
without breaking a single strand 

when finally  
the last light has fallen off the trees
leaves dry with dark
you mark your place
in the book
with a lightly pressed corner  

you pace barefoot along the porch
back and forth
even as small splinters
prick your toes  

even as mosquitoes
suck on your shoulders  

you have always felt older
than your age
but today has regressed you
to a child  

all stained and tangled  

all knots you can’t undo yourself
all words spelled out
that you can’t understand    

your body tantrums with rage
and inside your chest
your heart sinks to its knees

pleads with you
to make it better  

you press your palm against her
and let her cry
let her pound wild
with pain
until she wears herself out  

then you carry her to bed
and lay with her
until you both fall asleep

Like a roach in the night
I tentatively step into the light
Of day, blinding
My untrained eyes
If only for a moment, to witness

A perfect early summer day
A crisp breeze cuts into the dense heat
Like an ice cube dropped into pop
Kerplunk, I feel fizzy
I mean dizzy
Entranced by the sway of weeds in the wind
Growing in spite of the concrete surrounding them

How surreal
To peer down the lane of manicured lawns
Past the skies of Tar Heel blue and know
That just beyond the horizon
Lies utter chaos

and goodnight
i said i hated white wine but i’m sitting here drinking moscato 
i said i wouldn’t spill it this time but my sleeve is soaked