Criticality

Complexity
in a sheer, shimmering
shift
in the adaptive cycle
forewarns the chimera
the chaos,
the stochastic event.
When looking backwards
is falling
forward momentum-
inertia
driving
to a pause
between axis
in the curves
behind thresholds
of attraction.

The marble rolls
on a ridge
precariously
in a state of criticality
awaiting forces
to influence
gravitational pull
to a basin of attraction
a well
a deep well
fallen in
fallen through
once before

expand and contract
the dialectic at work
vernal lovemaking

more rain

a smell
a taste
a slaking of thirst
a song, a melody
a sensation
an inundation
relief
from a long summer
long drought
long winter
falling
misty
pounding
hard
soft
desire
dread
a dance
of distance
but immediate
urgent
passing
coming

Tone Deaf

On a vacant street
in an unfamiliar town
in the dawning
but dreary
afterglow

of long standing rites
and rituals

the windows all stare
at the intruder
the interlocutor
a codfish aristocrat
still stumbling for
the Moulin Rouge

permissions are needed
warnings heeded
“Boy, you had better head home...
Boy, it ain’t all bad to be alone.”

Whether the tavern
or the chapel
conviction
is an unmistakable
tone.

An Ode to Tantalus

These petals
in my mind
forgotten intrusions
innocent victims
of predation and sin
with no rabbit
or rosary
or reason.

These leaves
like lips
disguising secrets
hiding breaths
of yesterday
glistening
with the promise
of rain.

Ah, the elixir
the chalice
and wine
the freedoms
of rebirth
and redemption

and response
and ability
a penchant for meaning
for intent
and the tension
of multiple
"goods."

Reaching is redundant
in this purgatorial state.
Cheating the allegory
is a preferential fate.
I’ll hunger
and I’ll thirst
but I shall not be taunted.
Rather than reach
I’ll resign
and I’ll wait
and be wanted.

My Black Cat (Insomnia)

She’s elusive
my black cat
I am looking for her now, nights
without end.

Sometimes I see her
slinking at the edges
or sense her gaze
from the darkness.

I call to her
longing
to hold her to me
to hear the purr
of peace
and bliss.

But she’s aloof
as cats will be,
my black cat
recoiling
at capture
or possession.

Yet I call her name
in vein
wide awake
and pleading
wide awake
within
without.

Cobweb

I heard the fly buzz
as it died
when it died
snared in a web
unseen.

The web was a rope
of many fibers
silky
filaments
like dreams.

The rope was a noose
for the convict
felon
who like Icarus
dared
too high.

A noose hung
in a corner
where the cobwebs hang
and the mingling
is dusty
old sighs.

Are you there?
Are you spinning
now for me?
Now for me?
Is that long strand
vulnerable
stretched too thin
to see?

I’m caught
and I’m here
drab habitation
of whom?

I am caught
and I fear
the toucher’s tomb
the wraith and the womb
and the wide eyed wonder
room.

Whispering Wind

Thanks Moby.

Red Camillia

Away...Beyond the Flowers

gratified
and perplexed
in partial doses
that are over doses
essential oils
potent
and long lasting

there is no room
for these shapes
without building new
rooms
or renovating those
become empty
ghosted
and vacuous
antiques
with dust
and sheets

such ferocity of late
cannibals and shape shifters
threats from the shadows
the primordial places
the liminal spaces
the space
betwixt and between

you're beyond the flowers now
beyond the artifice
essence fishing
but liberated?
imprisoned?
both
and neither

you are seeing with butterfly eyes
pathways and targets and signs
nectar here
pollen there
beyond our human frequency

the infatuation of the mist grows
while its nature
drives it upward
outward
away

I look away
I stay away
you're feeling this same warm breeze
if westerly
only moments before me.
Zephyr, and you are first
as it always will
be.

Forbidden

The shadows of our own desires stand between us and our better angels, and thus their brightness is eclipsed.
- Charles Dickens

The passions and desires, like the two twists of a rope, mutually mix one with the other, and twin inextricably round the heart; producing good if moderately indulged; but certain destruction if suffered to become inordinate.
- Robert Burton

Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.
- William Blake

Stieglitz and O’Keefe

it seems our forms will mingle
like Stieglitz and O’ Keefe
never the two to separate
and never the twain shall meet* **

* To avoid accusations of plagiarism, the first use of the phrase "never the twain shall meet," to my knowledge, is Rudyard Kipling's... The Ballad of East and West.

** Then again, as Bono so aptly reminds, "every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief." ("The Fly" on Achtung Baby)

Fractus

I see only
fractals of you
tempted
temptation
tempting
three sides of a triangle
the geometry of settling
into the shapes
that just
won’t
fit
but could
with a new
rule.

Unbalanced
equation
and stranded vowels
variables
in the alphabet soup
that is cipher
that is radius
that is the distance
to the heart
of a half life
Mobius
loop.

The shortest distance
between two hearts
is a straight shot
if you can shoot
or are loaded
or are lucky-
relative velocity
not withstanding-
the vicissitudes
the venal
the vacillation
between Eros
and erstwhile entropy.

Waiting to be...

Passive
borrowed
Mayan
bought
blue
plum
asked
reflexive
asked
ground
right
straight
open
aggressive.

Betwixt and Between- Fleurdeliser

On these wet and heaving streets
still slick with the film of receding tides
still covered with the air of decayed history
and composted potential
of a foundered fleur-de-lis...

Here in the smoky strains
of a Blue Monk meeting
the Public Enemy number one;
in the clash of comedy and tragedy
in the collision of safety with free-falling
hangs Spanish moss
from the ancient arm
of an Oak
caught betwixt and between
languishing in the liminal
among both earth
and sky.

Here, in the humid strains
of a street clothes nun
fighting for the Holy Angels
is a delta blues moan
for one more kiss
of Amazing Grace.

Here where love
is an act of defiance
where life is against the odds
where passion is in opposition
to the gilded monarch
of mastery...

Between my shoulders I am marked
my path long lost, no longer my own
on the Rue Désirée
in rites of passage
among forests of Lilies
and love
and Live Oaks.

Sober Vows

Remorse-
so much simpler
than regret.

The question is about sobriety
he shrieks
“Can we not be sober?”

But drunkenness
is love
unrequited
unfulfilled
or taken
consumed
shot
after shot
after shot
until the spinning
is prelude
to nothingness.

She will. I will.
Colliding crystal
vows.

Pylon

another spasm
Christmas cards unaddressed
late winter guilt

aromatic earth
fence posts rising like lilies
spring pastures

Screen Lace