Hunter’s Moon

A blood-soaked bulge is leaning on the land
and sliding from horizon’s opened palm.
The hunter’s moon has come to understand
before the sun comes up it will be gone.
Once again the gibbous orb ignites
at dusk, its crooked round, an open wound;
gunshot underneath, exposing white
that leaks through soft as liquified cocoon.
October nights are pierced with lunar curses,
that bleed out in dark battlefields of stars
and hemorrhage the glare of universes
with transformation in their repertoires.
Ordinary shapes are starched and changed,
masked beneath a spectral camouflage
and eerily, perception rearranged,
while Autumn carries out its sabotage.  Entombed in silent screams of moonlit timbre,
the boney trees are clawing on November.

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Just Gone Blue

Where are you blue?
Caught up in the noonday altitude,
capsized in a comma,
rung through the jagged
edge of a bluebell.
Are you rotten with azure,
bruised by the brisk air,
moving with a glacier, clapped
under a cobalt minor scale
the color of rain.
Riding an indigo’s
night shade
with Bessie
Smith and Bobby
Bland,
burned
in a sapphire’s flame.
Squawking back
through a Steller’s Jay
bill, puckered on an early
huckleberry. Have you
turned around to turquoise,
found your coy in teal,
or maybe just gone,
blue.

Hieroglyph

Unwinding, hissing, passing eons out,
ballooning flapped, elastic: time’s disease.
The years deflated under winter drought,
while oceans were reduced to antifreeze.
Through complicated wars of circumstance,
in heat and dust, a few survived. Though stiff
at first, our body-language did advance
and printed verse became a hieroglyph
and sneezed. Exotic font and serif said
it all, to modern scholars looking back
from Times New Roman, Palatine, instead
of Courier, Papyrus, Copper Black.
The future pouring over poems found
the curvature of letter minus sound.

 Wet Drive


The valleys stretch
and bow away
and I
unzip the land
in swaths
and glean the backdrop.
A blind-stitched
highway sewn
beneath
the sky with I-15’s
cats-eye and miles of blacktop.

Cartooned
through cobalt clouds,
the bands of light
are breaking prisms
caught reposed in angles.
The hoodoo
hanging vertically,
ignite
a multicolored
slab of rainbow
dangle.

No arc or ends,
the swatch above
a wide
parabola of sage
is flanked by storm,
dissolves and passes
on the driver’s side;
my weather
dropped from lashes,
rolls down
warm.

What We Know Sonnet

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Possessing not the insight found in time,
that wraps a journey unaware, and claps
inaudibly in cadence, fractal rhymes.
We yawp, express this life in tattered scraps
of what we feel and map what seems so new,
but is it fresh or just repeated strolls;
the human gait still searching for a clue.
Insisting on rewriting former scrolls
of dead ideas there inked by bygone blooms
of us. Immersed and yoked with joy and pain,
the wonder of encounters since the womb,
our consciousness evovles beyond the brain.
Alive, unchaperoned and forth we go,
from youth through death recalling what we know.