For Greg Bechle Prayers like bees Emulating the crossing over. Pine shavings burned On charcoal disks. Shin-do: Of the Heart and Mind. After the ceremony, An 81 year old woman with one leg I’m pushing in a wheelchair up a stony hill. She hands me a cigarette, And lights one for herself. Truth. Crossing over. Of the heart and mind.
For Hugh Ogden, Poet, fallen through the ice on 12/31/06 The temperature was higher than normal That day, but we were poet’s right? You can’t let fragility stop you. Besides, we’d walked on water often. We could change the degree of things With our words. The whole world was celebrating that night, A cold world Embracing a new year. People were pushing for the future, Far, blessed and wide. But remember the end of that year, And how we all fall through An imperfect surface Trying to cross To the other side.
Twice removed, The boy moves through life, Poppies and death at his door. He is all Grimm tales & glitter. I tend the fire in my rags, But I am beautiful, Flames at the edge of my skirt, Violins from the hills, And he unaware That I am the queen of swords. A hundred years ago in the dance hall I wore a flower on my breast And moved in absentia. In between worlds I was part of the singing dead, Wayward in the final scheme.
Come, the scythes chatter as they harvest gold, and the late Fall light shadows the Virgin in the alcove. For the world to be stricken as the November landscape; to give up its color and stand naked, unashamed. They are dark, these hallways of humanity. A voice asks: What have we done to our children? New legends, like a red sunflower, man-made, come to fill our gardens, our streets, our doorways with submission. And all day, the young girls smoking and talking, laughing and smoking as if smoking could lessen the weight of love.
Beneath my veil summer of sorrow that grew as a field of wildflowers. Beneath my veil spring of resurrection, daffodils bleeding their purity and reflection. Beneath my veil all that autumn delivers, colorful death and dry love letters. Beneath my veil the light of twelve moons, virgin passage and pale cocoon.
How you have come to take the borrowed rooms of childhood from me, to extract all color from dreams with a crude syringe. Even my wild horses are tethered by cold reasoning. You have come to make me forget to love the unseen, to turn the days into numbers and make the night obscene. You have dragged me into a raw world, fractured and unclean.
You dreamed there were dark things- Men with scythes Belladonna eyes, A woman who knew What your heart was made of, A woman you murdered in your mind Because you could not love. Thorns and brambles that were your limbs, Your madness, Your memories. You dreamed of dark things, Black rivers running deep In your captive sleep. Grey meadow and bird, The red word Written into your flesh. And the scars and scars that were like unchanging constellations On your arms Where you had scratched Like a starving hound Until you bled. And when they'd begun to heal You'd scratch [...]
You never thought about Hell that much- What it looked like, who made up the population, where it was located. It seemed to be a far off, foreign thing reserved for holy manuscripts and movie plots. You never thought about simple things like clean water, breathing clear air while sitting on a park bench at the onset of spring. You never thought of how flowers grew. You never thought Hell Could reach your backyard, and proceed to crawl under your child's blanket. Of course it was like a plot from a B Movie. It was only a [...]
“Princess, the poem is born & you have woken, A world’s undone.” -Hayden Carruth But this unraveling as though Eden Had shifted so far to the south That even her birds were lost And could not go home. We waited there, deeply In a place growing shallow. We waited until the sky Turned indigo And the rivers wound Hungrily, like serpents over dry ground. Whatever they say, We will know what was truth And what was merely rumor. … here was Eden, unmapped And overcrowded with explorers, misfits and faithless lovers. There, across the way sat The handsome Italian boy, Angelo, [...]
I. Saved by Faith- Houdini and the kisses he gave His wife before he went, Head first into the tank of water. All those nights, Heavily chained and holding his breath Until his heart stood still Inside of his chest. Every lover is an escapist But these hands and mouths, Trespasses and deep spaces Are things beyond the map You hide in the hem Of your shirt. II. I am 2 feathers held In your fingers, A shooting star Within the walls of a theatre. And I cannot rest Thinking of you With la luna on your tongue And snowfall [...]