Wednesday, March 16, 2011

What if we are snowflakes in sunshine

backlit and radiant as any of
the haloed saints and twice as
ethereal, pyres of
photons

I reflect all (Im rubber)
reverberating witness (you're glue) to
this particular particle moment
fresh as dirt
I teem, I worm
I roil and lye
still as a burn.

I would be a small
strange sun if I could choose
consuming each sugary star

Universes could not satisfy.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Reading as Evening Loosens and Sighs

The effort of day is taking it's toll,
ringing out over the evening coffee
sluicing up the shoulder blades
flooding ever into thoughts.

It's physics an opposite
reverberation
tightening up
a noose of purpose
of work never done.

the unfinished tasks
that waken sleepers

Wake up! The dark
tricks your eyes!
It is not night and the day
is calling on the horizon
bloody and violet
with it burden
dragged toward you
Apollo's horse whipped to froth
and sunrise

Stop this. the stars
make me frantic
with excess.
They are wasteful and
fade before our eyes catch on
to their nonsense.
The sky is not awash with
starlight,
it is not a glittering
champagne glass.
It is a cold grave
with small fires
candles that blow out
with the slightest breath
of visitors.

Each wick a well
that ends in
an absence
of light.