Penumbra
A fold in time
Where folds are blankets
A hot gray country
Where blankets are not needed
An underground room
Is cold with blankets
And cloaked in time
Dirt Road
A clear cool rise
Of gathering land, rolling thin stars
Strip gravity’s hum
The falling road dawn
fell free from it’s haze
Numb air pressed hard…
Blue trees loom black, fall leaves
Spill down
Young scents rise with a
Clear earth-wind
A dome-sheltered town
floats low far away…
So half-lighted hush
Fills eye swollen sky
Glass daylight strains up--
toward previous moon
The dust in the wind
Sifts down to the road
Wind
She waddled upright like a worm on the night
The dark dwindled out like a pin
A rain dazzled tar-summoning mists from afar
The dull feather house smelled of tin
Leaves float warm like a cork on a storm
Smoke-streams spray crystal to ice
A wind spends out strings and flashes dew rings
Another shy dream to entice
Assessment
Methodically careless
What is sure
A road, a measure lift of unending, alleviate the eye and brow
Pain
Memory fallen, lips as teeth as
feet as volition simultaneous picture-artistry-image
Unfolding shard past of scrubbed knee
Fingernail of gravity’s reliance
A fat sparrow digs feathers through a window
ten o’clock tea and counting drunk, is the mirrorless
Critique, as pages stack
As dreams flicker
Endlessly mind
Loping, like a lazy horse.
Untitled
Floating downward, my memory seethes and swells,
then flurries, glides, becomes strict, falls faster
knocking against inanimate objects
From Space back to Earth
And there it dwells in some darkened crevice
Like an old war criminal
Thin, blind, groping for self-survival
Mumbling all the names
Hidden in atomic dreams
Seeping into cellular molecules
Decay, strata, ghosts of every shape
Fat tears that dry, evaporate, mute, fragment
Color the desert of my eternal need
Untitled
The road steeps upward
Sidewall –
Bricks of wet pink.
Low branches splatter with
dew eyelash I run.