their coolies, their foehn wind and thorn.
their polite, embroidered nouns sown
through sockets of silence. Sewn
in violaceous threads to burlap; a mouth
with no petaled tongue to harbor thorn.
Lips basted on with a needle‘s fine thorn,
buttons of disk for eyespots are sewn.
Excesses of mauve cross my scarecrow’s looped mouth.
damn the broken speckled eggs of sorrow
lambs and sheep are counted for tomorrow
harm unfolds and every corners’ ornery
trapped in tattered rags of second stories
charmed until the pansies drooped neglected
snapped balloons deflated dreams deflected
skeins of winter sunlight wheezed and squandered
promises that shattered pieced and pondered
trains of thought to marriage quite contrary
Thomases of doubt reactionary
coroners and caskets flying solo
kettle drums that wanted to be oboes
corridors of numbered doors and angles
settled in complacency’s soft strangle
Ginger and cinnamon can scar
the reserved air mercilessly
in empty rooms at half past three.
Perky utensils cramp a jar,
spatulas arranged as they are
needed. Laundered dishcloths still smell
of distant breads, a rump roast’s char.
Her kitchen wouldn’t say farewell.
You broke a bale and scattered August on
the frozen stable boards. December sagged,
her arching tail switched steadily at dawn.
We waited, talked of heifers, fogged and flagged
the conversation cleverly around
a frigid barn. December didn’t care,
she raised her head, was bearing down,
preoccupied with something in the air.
She pushed until we saw two hoofs appear;
the long gestation ruptured, braved the chill
and steaming, slipped into the atmosphere.
December stood and letting down her milk,
wasted streams of warmth around her feet.
We watched until our silence stretched like hands
through polar fronts and taciturn cool sheets.
The moon fell down, the newborn tried to stand,
but vapor veiled our faces as we laughed
together at December’s wobbly calf.
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.
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.
city lights join each other
forget their source
that fireflies beneath
where distinct complexity
in between each bulb
time is measured
kept in pockets punctured
held up briefly
stuck on bayonets
and flipped until the day’s
eager sands have trickled
past the fire
slipped through digits
caught the wind