Word Weaver

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Little Gardner

Bury your little hands into the gritty soil and insect hovels, into the sweet skin of the calamondin– let its bowed dark orange segments and it’s stringy white pith stick to your plump fingers. Pluck tiny jasmine flowers from a throng of vines whose own grasp seeks to swathe the neighbor’s blueberry bushes but your little hands pull them back. Grab hold of the tin watering can, poke holes in…

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Fathering Sunlight Within Semblance Revolutions 

There’s a place in my being

where you have long-since glimmered

in a chamber, but not in the physical-orbit.

You revolve in a vastness and in esprit

causing me

to stumble upon the edge of dawning:

I have known you

before your body

had ever been proclaimed into being,

before you came whirling into existence.

  You flicker into illustration within my inner-vision

making the spot between my eyebrows

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Cast to Satisfy

I sewed gold into my skin

so I’d be shiny enough

for you

to pick me up

place me in your pocket

never forget me

  like a fragment of subconscious

shimmering

withering coins

from lost

civilization

  and I’m pointless traveler

and you dangerous ruler

gold buys power

my body

is radiant misery

so expend me

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Band-Practice-Creationism 

Atoms collide with one another in a basement apartment.

Wood, plastic, and nickel

reverberating echos of the big bang. No light shines here

except that of the dead (rock)stars pinned on the wall in their paper moments.

Another boom sounds:

the guy upstairs is yelling. We’re sinning.

Skin taut over celestial domes and ascension of terrestrial

forces shake the forest of beer bottles on the coffee…

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features of a storm

features of a storm

reflecting precipice bodes and bursts

tempests bow flutters

curved  bolt shift from no where

follow dim symmetry

billows on the bend emerge

dawn of the spire utters

arched prism deluge pinnacles

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Neurotically Divine

You scatter ashes reminiscent of the master’s flash

of adderall-chasms elicit of wit with teeth gritting

on the fringe of being afraid and bearing

the weight of sails and no available land to assure

your roam to conquer the weird but we’re all obscure

here so the allure lies in the skyward dirt

where unfurled limbs bury themselves in stationary elevation

and point questions at any choice that…

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Ka

The road and the tale have both been long, would you not say so? The trip has been long and the cost has been high… but no great thing was ever attained easily. A long tale, like a tall Tower, must be built a stone at a time.

― Stephen King, The Dark Tower

    pretend there isn’t

a difference between

iridescence and building stone

now build the skeleton of a Dark Tower

and sew its skin from eras’…

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Verge of What is Known

Verge of What is Known

All I really know is the jungle.

The breath of the Earth here

is oppressively giving—

planting me in sweat and spirit.

Sirocco lovers dance at its borders

where the trees end and the sands begin. I see

them as dust-born guardians.

Occasionally men in plated creatures

try to wade through the sea

of beige. But they never seek

refuge in the dim-green.

My sanctuary. I think

they are afraid

that the…

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The Sensation of Coffee

The Sensation of Coffee

lips break

speaking softly

of green aromas at the window

and brewing umber

cold ceramic squares bear fading footprints

the hot wet air is making everything sticky

there is a stray fiber on your face

a fallen lash climbs up your breath

so wishes can be made in the silence of the void

the bubbling machine signals the ecstasy

enticing lips to break again at sunrise

for mud-colored liquid zeal

your…

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Shadow Igneous-Hallways

You mine rocks from a quarry. What you get from a quandary

is a pocket full of pebbles and a body full of aching.

The tunnels of your livelihood bury your lungs in dust

but you continue to crawl those shadow igneous-hallways

because you know no other way to tread ground.

Eating away at earth.

The tunnels grumble.

  Eventually the Mountain retaliates.

It buries you where no pickax can break you…

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Living Room Traveler

stacked tarot cards

bag of assorted runestones and a book on rune-reading

churchwarden’s pipe from somehwere in New Zealand, the remnants of mugwart inside

ceramic walnut that splits on its horizon

its insides full of various dye bearing 4 to 40 sides

three-legged toad sits atop loose change

while a Gautama Buddha statue watches the toad, auspiciously

painted mushrooms and twin Calavera skulls

sp…

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Swallowable Amounts

Watching the world from atop

a looming nest

thrown together from dead twigs

and anxiety, is not like tying

a ribbon of sunlight tightly

around your finger

as a reminder

that fire only consumes

until it’s full.

It’s just not true.

It’s not as if depression

wades quietly, patiently

for a seasonable flash

to flood your lungs,

lungs struggling to keep you surface-

level while the ache

of grieving…

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Jupiter's Mixture 

Jupiter’s Mixture 

I see the clouds in your eyes

water veils wrapping me in  drops

as a call for sensual intervention 

billows from your static mouth,  

rattling the stars in their fixed hiding places.  I’ll be your panacea when poison causes 

your light to blink away to its hiding place. 

That was the last thing I said to you 

before your gravity fell, faultless. 

I had to be sure I could separate you

from the…

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Swallowable Amounts

Watching the world from atop

a looming nest

thrown together from dead twigs

and anxiety, is not like tying

a ribbon of sunlight tightly

around your finger

as a reminder

that fire only consumes

until it’s full.

It’s just not true.

  It’s not as if depression

wades quietly, patiently

for a seasonable flash

to flood your lungs,

lungs struggling to keep you surface-

level while the ache

of grieving…

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The Frame of a Memory

The Frame of a Memory

We had been lost somewhere together

where light hadn’t developed any photos in my memory.

Violet streams tailed behind overarching meteors

while the columns that held up the rooms of our conversations

crumbled into single-word roofless shouting matches.

I gazed upwards, and noticed we left our footprints on the Sun.

That way, old habits wouldn’t have any trouble

finding us in the twilight of our…

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Withering Steps

  Disintegration began at the heel

these shoes parsing the terrain of all know surfaces –

the wet and dry, the cool and the burning.

Broke them in to break the longing; the sensation

of recollection of when walking had no derivative

of any who walked any place before then.

Still, the rest held together. There was

potential for momentum to be built in traction.

  Next came the sole. Knowing they…

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Pebbles and Pine Needles

Pebbles and Pine Needles

My eyes pour amber over the blue-hued

mountains etched longingly out of my orbit,

and the stillness of my hands falters

as I attempt to comb their snowcaps with my fingers.

I transpose myself and trick myself

into the trees and among the rocks

believing I can feel the chill of residual winter

stinging my skin with cold and silence.

The bite is not unwelcome, it’s just the mountains way

of…

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