swell up heart
swell your fleshy marbled cone
burst inwardly
beating lily of the dark
wrapped in veins
of pyrite dust
ignited by the body’s brain
spread your secret moonlight
unconfined as milky
just in pale rivulets
of gushed love
past every flapping
trunk and scapula
on seplechurs of ears
pool in larger pearls
than fondled
in a muscles reflex

Garden of Weeds

what is that with arched torso breeding there?
a closet of the sun enmeshed in spines,
they tickle thorns of roses, aren’t fair
and penetrate the lilies from behind
then spreading far and wider, squat and drink,
sucking on the toes of hyacinths;
caressing Peonies around their pinks,
bedding Sedum in their labyrinths;
covert in green, their color schemes enable
a seat with horticulture’s bluest bloods
and manners aren’t an issue at this table
where every root is firmly in the mud;
though showing up wild oats with every seed,
secretly all flowers envy weeds

Change My Mind

change my mind just like you would a room
rearrange the table and that chair
clear out all the closets of costumes
plaster subtle cracks that spider there

bring up all the china from the hutch
fill each snifter gracefully with brandy
stuff the vase with tulips trash that crutch
undrawer every candle and the candy

shift the curtains level up the blind
polish down the counters stack the spice
swish away projections left behind
bleach out stale assumptions (do that twice)

fire up each engine grease the gears
stack the tools and tighten up loose screws
sharpen all the blades and trim the fears
be gentle though because it’s filled with you

Chained Verse

You opened up a fissure,
fisher of locked
lochs and coral.
Chorales sung and pealed,
peeled and sheared;
sheer wonder makes little sense.
Cents and dollars, oh,
owe do you? With what did you meddle,
metal clad knight,
night’s odd caller.
Collars and phlox,
flocks of foul
fowels and maids
made of mourning.
Morning’s presence
presents the bard,
barred in blue prints.
Prince with your toads
towed, leave them all here,
hear the unchained mail

Marmalade District

Arranged canopies of Catalpas
splay their late autumn beans
all over the planned parkways
of a marmalade district
leaned over the temple.
A capitol dome governs
afternoon shadows
oxen shoes emerge
from the rich dirt
of dug-in backyard
Uneven sidewalks
roller skated between
the irises.
A fist-fight with a girl
at the bottom of
Quince street.
That sled crash
deep in winter
and the bumpy ride
at a schoolground
The wounded sparrow
under the corner lilac,
who died the next hour
in the cage
where I placed her
a sweetened rot of many leaves.

Sleeptalk Tritina

Smuggled through nocturnal talks
in shredded shadows split in strips
of mother’s bits her pockets kept
the bleak concerns he always kept
his father’s feet and staggered talk
sheets playing out across the strips
of comatose in comicstrips
submerged in worlds he never kept
of garbled words and gargled talks
talk pealed in strips of what he kept.