#519. thanks mom

December 29, 2011

feeling time
the river branches around 
all the ghosts becoming more and more
frequent riding the current down to the sea

such a fragile bar of steel
the heart which opens
never count death
as finished
song life
bitter isnt it
sweet

wierdo
dipping in the bright flow hence
i reach back to you writer crossing
the river on the misty steamer planking
to fulton we slice and dip through the spirit mist
and i pluck a gift for myself for this
and the glimpse of my place in it.

Sacrifice For A Dancer’s 42nd(because she wanted yeats

If
as you say
love is sacrifice
then I would sacrifice
any chance at loving life
with you
to give you that Gift
and this poem
at your desire!

The child glowing, grows there
From the life, grass mown green.
She steps lightly on her
Circuits round. Escaping nothing
She gains her youth.

A man, stranger to her
Offers her the Lead. Shy
Away or Forwards. Gently
And happily or sadly
Grow a dancer.

Will we
go home with fleshy petals
and you watching
over and through me
like all the growing
of pollen golden
flowing over
the tidal line
dividing
life and more life.

#38. Madness

October 4, 2009

Madness

went to the diner
just to hear a phone ring.

Amazed, saddened
by the graceful traceries of veins
in the waitress’ arms.

Tears on a page.
The sound magnifies the distortions.

How best to celebrate a birthday?
Unaffordable music or suicide.

How precious is light as if no electricity.
How scarce.

The people are smiling
and I have no idea why.
But I once knew.

The phone rings.
Permission.

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