Xmas

Approaching the darkest
night of the year
with blood under nails
and unkempt hair
and a thirst
for rare-
ified
air
and a dare
if I'd
taken
the shot
if I'd
taken her
spot
I'd be waking
and not
in this dream
where the prick
of the point
of a flickering
flake of snow
guillotine
or a bow
and a blade
and the broad-head
has done
all it could
call it good
call it game
walnut wood
where you hang
on your cross
from your vows
with your dross
and your dream
of a Wonderful Life
as a wife
as the Bride
of a Christ
that forgives
and lives twice
and then sieves
it suffices
to bleed
just a little
to rinse
in the riddle
of a rite
where the
night
might be bright
for the duramen
for a darker
knight.

A Breath of Wind- 風の息

A breath of wind
a timeless conversation
an answered prayer.

風の息
時代を超越した会話
と答えたの祈り

A Prayer

The fragility

of humanity

amazes me

when I fell into your skin

the world forever changed

and I am destroyer

a new Arch Angel

of Death

when I fell into your skin

a pulse of your mind

created eternal echoes

of an ocean

of last breaths.

Rules

A conversation avoided

a tale of two cities

of two citizens

of a brave new world.

Two lives

two flags

two sexes

two bags

filled with layers

and rings and burl.

Stuck in a moment

in the fog of a war

between modernity

and the urge to mate

is a space that is constant

in dimension or distance

but not in constancy

connubiality

or fate.

A frozen curtsey

a stilted salute

and intimacy

is vacuous

and vacant.

While we play by the rules

Eros arrows the fools

who are coy, constrained

or complacent.

color

Prize

I'm still writing somewhere

I'm still writing someone

still writing a history, a mystery a myth.

Still in the ring

still in the round

still just a foil, a fool, a fist.

Will there be roses?

Or still only ruses

or a medal that rusts away?

Are you still writing somewhere

still writing someone

or is art in waning decay?

restoring the yoke

neglected honeymoon vessel

night paddling

August reunion

wet with anticipation

and heavy dew

of banshees and bruins

A ravenous quiet

a mossy fallen birch

exploded by insatiable hunger.

Deep furrows

in maple and pine

and grassy beds

in berries and vines

in the bedroom

of banshees and bruins.

west

west

from whence this dry wind blows

west

from whence this creek once flowed

west

from whence I rucked up and rode

to find an unfettered future

at reverie

they looked at me

and said we smell retreat

I looked back at them

worn and grim

confused by the specter

of defeat

I drifted off

to nodding prairies

and cottonwood islands

and sanctuaries

and felt the breeze

while fingering bars

the cool of metal

on starchy collars

the innocent days

are damn near over

and the novelty

of four leaf clovers

lost in the haze of

the same old place

and the inevitable

same tomorrow

west

west

to ride there now

and find a Henslow's sparrow

west

west

they're coming now

to taste our metal and marrow.

"when it rains it pours"

monsoon melancholy

weeping foundations

Black Pond Dusk-- Warrior Song

New Orleans Night Life

night lights-smelting at Toughannock Creek

aiki I

the forest blushes twice

first in muted shades of birth

spring- green- entering-water-rising

and the violent hues of death

autumn- crimson- leaving-fire-falling

aiki

humility

inevitable and irresistible

power

misty meadow

motives shrouded in memories

still mourning

Sashimi

fresh, sashimi flesh

orange roe on the banks

spring flows and new moss

Brook trout

vernal fatale

Breathe your breath of desire on me

and fan the flames of creativity

as the snow melts and the crocus stir

after long and languid sleep.

Let the buds swell

and the sap run

let the freshet flow

under an engorged sun

and give rise to may pool music.

Let me savor scents of awakened must

and feel on my face the moistened dust

as the vernal mother rolls and swells

and takes me deep inside.

Ice out,

the waters rise

ebbing and flowing

to you,

to you.

Flooded out,

the drifts and bergs

must finally

bid

adieu.

Sunset in Port-au-Prince

chips of gnashing teeth

shattered china and single shoes

sunset in Port-au-Prince

Fish Eye

Party Favors

vow sabbatical
going rogue and randy
her costume party

carnival alibis
periodic mardi gras
banked dispensations

alternate ID
consequences discarded
party favors

janitorial
amelioration
the hangover

Bullets and Butterflies

Will you see the heart in crimson and its torn and shattered edge
or recite the rosary piously and pray and blindly pledge
to expunge your soul, just one less species
of the flutter by butterflies that make you go to pieces
of the pretty ones with active tongues always probing for your nectar
finding ways to make you pay an homage to the scepter
stamen or stigma is the prisoner of war
the sentence, and the words that mean more than a butterfly whore
who is fickle in her feeding and deigns a future tryst
velvet gloved and fingers reaching in the shape of frenzied fist
feigning love in a bullet's jacket and the powder is desire
and the wings of jet black swallowtail never fail to inspire
a response, a retort, a secret blush and stroking
and a stoking of a fire that is starved for air and choking
on a premise, on a promise that a law will break tonight
and a feeling, infatuation, on the hook of a brand new height
for monarchs, migration, and drunk on monarchy
and on milkweed, and thistle, and Pennyroyal tea.

Halfway Home

LYRICS
The lazy way they turned your head
Into a rest stop for the dead
And did it all in gold and blue and grey

The efforts to allay your dread,
In spite of all you knew and said,
Were hard to see and harder still to say

A comfort plush all laced in lead
Was sent to quell your sentiment
And keep your trembling sentinel hand at bay

And when a sudden silhouette
Escaped the top-side of your bed
I knew you'd never ever be the same

Is it not me?
Am I not folded by your touch?
The words you spoke
I know too much
It's over now
And not enough

Is it not me?
The damage you hold inside your blush?
The load you towed
You showed it up
It's over now
And I'm insane

Wild spirits winds from out your chest
Collides with world and wilderness
It needs a gentle hand to call it home

Now surfs the sun and scales the moon
And winds the waistband of her womb
All eyes ablaze the day you break your mold

Is it not me?
Am I not culled into your clutch?
The words you spoke
I know too much
We're closer now
And said enough

Is it not me?
Am I not rolled into your crush?
The road you choose
Unloads control
See it take me so

Go on throw this stone
Into this halfway home.

Ouroboros

Ouroboros
again
and again
and again
like budding
like addiction
like nature
like the scorpion and the frog
beginning in
or persisting from
the beginning.
Inextinguishable.

Why does the sun burn with a forever flame,
a nuclear furnace with sole focus?
Because it must, and so it does.
Whether gracing us with a sunbeam
or incinerating our flesh
it is.

To be is the end.
To be Eve.

Confetti Reruns

confetti reruns
trite rites of passage and penance
Happy New Year

forty days and nights
lenten fervor again and again
her flagellation

a knowledge of thirst
satiation prerequisite
hunger before blood

the ball will drop
and with it all inhibitions
we all fall down