Metaphoric

Thus far, we speak in metaphors:
deodars and building ruble,
prickled barbs distressed in stubble,
a bell that bids you, ‘get the door’.
My coq au vin, your veiled consent,
the break, that fake, a supplement,
in grasshoppers, as creme de menthe,
those seldom spoken, never spent,
mute conversations I adore.

Our sentences are serving terms
as prisoners with no recourse,
through wishbone breasts with curved remorse.
Your feathered mask, my wan concern,
the absent verb dulled on the thimble,
in silence swings from sharp to nimble.
Thin similes defined in symbols,
gelatinous, they stand up, tremble,
are lettuce seed the hearts return.

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Rethinking Winter

Framed in the scant scramble of flake,
I absorb the whimsy of snow;
the brief life of a pattern
exhausting the jubilant.
Frozen butterflies break
from the clouds
to ride on my shoulders.
The clean shards of silence brace
a Call Ducks’ snide cackle.
As the whirr of low geese
snub this traitorous season,
White Pine stand up
and pierce the flog.

I split snowing partitions
to meet all these objects
stripped in bleached definition.
A fresh traveler, I step
from recognized hovel
to explore a new planet
in winter dimension.

Rice paper worlds quiver
a chrysalis bubbles.
Ice webs blur the folds
of the fluttering soils,
that dream as I do,
hibernal and hidden.

An unexplained sun
skates the snow,
exposing flat crystal.
An equinox fated
gasps out,
spilling spectra;
the solstice sighs
in brief ecstasy.

Celestial Electra
burns her zenith
in effigy.

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 bony trees are clawing on November.

Esoterica

The shoal of night recedes, light licks the earthly shin
A trammeled inspiration begins to speak in hymn
Wet pencil lead to paper, thoughts fall like rising yeast
Fear is my retainer kept in scoured bin for waste
Words reflecting objects, adjectives inflicting depth
A penal code of execution, pause expression
pawning doubt…
To write as though unconscious or in hibernal dream
Soul expunged by symbol, impales emotive drone
Echo of somniloquy revivifying vellum
The id of self-extraction abstracted into realm
Noun speeding toward conjunctive, slides on extradited verb
A vehicle in mayhem, careening through blind curve
From talisman to halidom this topiary sings
A compact oratorio of participled scheme
Opera laced with orphery
Lampoon sullied in the potash
God festooned in oil and greed
Love camouflaged as witchcraft
Philosophy and vermin can populate a script
Mediocrity and prejudice pearls up on scribbled lip
The divine, releasing symphony
Freed verse in breach of plaster
A mother strokes her labored poem
“I’ve conceived another bastard”

 

Ides

Abeyant limbs stab the ides
with a flimsy shade,
Parked buds tumefy,
eddied in the tepid jetstream.
Lonely gaggle-strays
prematurely return,
stand selfishly straight
and ringnecked on a pond island.
Aviary music swells
beyond its clipped wings; blankets of feathers
break over pimpled birdflesh
in recurrent waves.
Hands of internal clocks sink
to a depth of the tallest hour,
while an unconscious violet
rises with a split clitoral petal.
Snow is razored by the sun
into clean shaven slopes
and intermittent springs
rupture the ground
reminding me
how winters lie.

 

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.

Delay

It rained all night, snowy peaks blink
at a freshly washed valley in their abdomen.
People squint, hint at their fatigue,
but can’t hide the vacant intrigue of jaywalking
through gawping Sunday roads.

Manholes explode with steam
are flapjacks on the tarmac.
A metallic morning is netted
in the bird bones of naked trees,
licked by the curved tongue of a curb.
The day reflects in rubbered
black galoshes, squashes and disturbs
everything the darkness had assumed,
is aging into noon.

I am here too soon,
squandered in this light, laundered by last night’s
sheets that swirled through thighs and elbowed
plushly pale hellos to our
wallowed limbs on down pillows.
Exposed profiles,
disclosed pieces of nuance,
made a separate peace with consequence,
distilled forgets
with common sense.

This day arriving, scatters,
grows up late,
gathers deadpan jokes, matters of fate.
I fumbling, failed,
derailed, survived the bend
and humbled in the end,
begin
to understand delay.