Monday, July 30, 2007

Lyra Nascitur

Listing in the bay
of a guitar's hollow

trembling string clouds
bring melodious rain

tack sail to climes
where day sets slow
as a first kiss.




Saturday, July 28, 2007

Bad X



Eyes dry as canvas,
I was an integer looking for the Equation.
Nightmare played a waltz under hidden
seas. My horse pulled up lame. Darkness
granted a negative Damascus.

I was lost, no desire for being found. The Cosmos
melted into an Ocean of vomit, tears, and piss.

Sleep stood next to a lantern one block ahead. He cracked
a full-bellied grin. His laughter played an aching tattoo
radiating waves inside my head.

The wind blew coarse as an Early Church polemic. Foreign
cells warred inside me. A cloud's nipple offered false
solace.......And there I stood with my mouth open to the sky.

I was an integer looking for equation, eyes heavy
sandbags. Nearby a light bulb screamed light.
Sleep kicked at my heels.
The wind settled and I fell into a woman. She pushed me
aside.
Everything became whiteness and scent made my nostrils
burn. I became a pincushion for cruel angels.

The largo of a siren-like beep seduced me into rest's
capricious arms.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Parade

So many came
to watch
blonde boys
run bright
under cruel
Noon burning skin.

A new song
breaks from homogenous
housetops.

The Eventide strain
boys whistle
while beckoned by
dim blue light's 
placid blush.

Sunday, July 08, 2007

April Dies Cruel

I

April dies cruel
as a child's
ideal.

The brushfire pall lifts,

Ashen traces
taken away
by evening rain.

II

Every morn
welcomes
the chaste kiss
of dew

Knowing April 
shall again
burn anew.





Sunday, July 01, 2007

Labyrinth of the Continuum

"Clouds seemed mountains melting into empyrean."

Me, Visiting Colorado Springs, 2004.



The distance between any two points on a line is infinite.
It can be subdivided into infinitesimal units.

The space between two people is infinite when they are
not touching. That we do not go mad, miraculous. One room
away is another galaxy.

Leibniz's "best of all possible worlds" opens labyrinths of despair. 
To know when we are not touching
we are infinitely separate is too much.
We run, laugh, and hide in the "lace of soft words".
We ignore infinite spaces we abolish daily. 
Awareness of it would court madness. 

What we call close is unimaginably distant. 

Sound is an aural sheet we tuck ourselves under 
to set the infinitesimal.

Heartbeat a largo when she is not here. I sing her
touch. A spell to dispel all distance.