Flora on the Surface

Her recollections freckle lavender;
rosemary purples, drift
and dot the scene, mid
pensive pansies with bruised
eyes that bleed
into canary velveteen, 
let sail to bob and weave
with fennel’s eyelash greens;
a feathered flattery
that boats between
the columbine
with spurs obscured in flower,
forsaking other blossoms,
rests with rue,
whose bitter sorrow
contemplates the hour,
chaste daisies chain and violets ensue
and float above the tomb
in buoyant truth; a eulogy
of pollinated wreath.
Ophelia stares through them
from beneath.

Taking Turns

THIS WAY TO NAVAJO TACOS the little
sign directed: FRYBREAD – TAKE A TURN =>
I steered off 95 and mumbled “it’ll 
taste authentic.” I had tried to learn
as much about their ancient past, as strangers
could, explored archaic thoroughfares.
On foot alone, or camping trips with dangers,
played odd games of desert solitaire
with Rattlesnakes and Kestrels. I would practice 
blending into stone where I could pray
with yellow blooms of unforgiving cactus,
grew to love the birth and death of day.

Now I was buying food from a descendent,
living proof the ghosts I’d chased were here,
while waiting, watched a child and her attendant,
she unsteady, but she had no fear.
The tiny girl was very busy walking,
holding hands above her, towered him,
who I presumed to be her father, talking
softly, reinforcing wobbling limb.
“Is she just taking her first steps?” I queried.
“Yes, we didn’t push her much” he said.
“We figure she’ll have all her life,” he wearied,
pausing, sighed, “of walking, up ahead.”
Just then the child looked up and saw me staring,
penetrating eyes held my surprise.
The pride in them, triumphant and declaring
“I am here and its my turn to rise.”

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.

Industrial Odyssey

Strung out, loosely semiprecious strings
of glinted consciousness along the bare
shrugged shoulders under empty throats of land
collar dawn. The last high beams are sparse
through fine haired forbes where asphalt cuts its teeth
and whines on gasoline where jake brakes splutter.

Here stands the clustered monolithic hive
of industry, its long horrific utter
extending forth with holding tank arrives
in snaking pipes there slithering inside
and fed to kilns that burn the toxic clutter.

The sun is broken in rectangled gold,
diagonals are X’d in stairs that grudge
the tower built where sulfured air is blown
and whispers to the roar. Blue flames are thrown,
incinerating waste, an android’s mother.

Networked, connected wire by the mile
wraps around, mechanical as a dreams,
splices through pilasters, frowns and smiles
twists and braids; the humming turns to screams.

And men are Lilliputians in this vast
Armageddon organized by them,
are manufactured chained and then condemned
Colossus now incinerates the past.

Acephalus Stretch

from above

the fuzzy 

city lights join each other

blear

forget their source

halo life

that fireflies beneath

where distinct complexity 

can dwarf

networks shimmered

in between each bulb

voltage hummed

through neon

imprecise

time is measured

beaten 

bridges death

kept in pockets punctured

sacrificed

help up briefly

stuck on bayonets

hour-glassed 

and flipped until the day’s 

eager sands have trickled

past the fire

flickered forth

from final

matinees

slipped through digits

caught the wind

expired

Feathered Nature

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Unconsciously you leave yourself behind
between my grass in cocoa quills with bits
and remnants of digested meals and it’s
as if you’ve landed here, though disinclined.
Your cries like rusty hinges, how they grind,
like swollen doors against their frames in fits.
Directly after dark the racket quits,
the dawn will show your bodies’ print defined.
The day warms up and couples venture ’round
the river’s edge with two that swim offshore.
A shadow flicks, its falling weight is more,
submerging goose in talon’s grasp ’till drowned.
Her gander’s shrieking hisses underscore
unanswered calls that slice the night with sound.