what’s the matter with you?

he’s one in a billion
counted bulbs with no choice
but to be reduced to a 60 watt love
buried in your big blanket sky
so, go ahead and sit there
trying to capture love’s free
faith escaping through the heights
to another night
let it strike you as odd
like a remembered math problem
you tried to solve in high school
by multiplying, by dividing
by doing anything you could do
to work it out

what did the watermelon say to the cantaloupe?
it depends — is this watermelon
odd or even?

::

Some Sally angst for Real Toads
1-2

she circles

in softness
in un-

expected math

she’s a break from
the
flicker

(carnation of stars)

is she hair, is she air,
is she eddies in the

night?
you think about daffodils
you think about light
you want to brush

her arm
in extended fluidity

reach for a pulse
tucked under her knee
now hug-held
closer to her chest

::

playing sort of another Moon card
as imagined in Starry Night for RT

you could say,

i like to be in love

but if you want me to go on & on,
i’d say i like you — i like the piece
of me that gets dislodged in you

an odyssey in weightlessness, —
a rocket ship returns from heaven
parachutes into a remote spot of deep,
bottomless blue; breathlessly bobs

it’s that simple, — being in love

Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life. -Langston Hughes

for Real Toads

the wind sets us

asunder,
which is the best kind
of place to be
for half-crazy
angels & saints,

& there’s no denying
the wind has ever failed
to give us fair & clear warning
you will be cold,

yet for all her openness
ever mad is the grass
& green is the call to commune
flattened out, face down
beside the jasmine vine
bursting with heady scent

& it sounds pretty good
don’t you think?
to have the weather
& sky be the only
weighty things on our backs

wind & air, —
are never too raw
nor is the way
we empty our shoes
of ourselves

but, if a brisk (or gentle) wind
ceased to stipple our cheeks,
or if the grass stopped tickling
the hollow of our souls,
well, i think i would certainly die
in devotion & in mind

::

for Real Toads
“We all go a little mad sometimes.” – Psycho

i’ve eaten a cure

i’ve eaten a cure song

and let it drip down my hands

juice falling from my fingertips

(the password is pomegranate)

and without saying poem, or night

and without saying i love you (really)

and without knowing how flesh can swim

i bank on our desire to see that red ruby

sea (part)

::

for Real Toads

 

the winky eye

;
fate
you; +me
accidents in love
have the stars aligned?
kismet

;
choice
sorting through
what shines brightest
thus; willed by will
espouse

23: NaPoWriMo

importunity

, we
didn’t invent it
(we can’t pronounce nude)
is this the right language?

remember the time afterward
you asked if it was strange
(that sudden urge) to pray

give thanks for this
lifetime (agreement)
finished in a moment

sometimes (we cry, lord)
we wake up to a soundtrack
in our eye
we didn’t invent

we have to wonder
(,we) creation or myth?
nightgown, or shadow
shapes in Gethsemane?

::

19: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads

i can never

seem to do you justice
by writing b-e-a-u-t-y
or taking a picture
with this old camera
— one eye always open

::

18: for d’Verse

inroads

I.     morning

skin
then,
is only half-
an in

II.   flesh

cut a slow
path, – it’s a heart,
you know

III.  sunlight

the way is
opened,
brought to light

IV.   knees

have we
but a beggar’s prayer?

::

15: NaPoWriMo

i know a few things by heart

like how to make french toast,
potato salad, deviled eggs,
that you like tomato soup
with patty melts and cheese,
that you’re happy once a year
with peanut butter and jelly
cake, legitimately pleased
that i understood the science
your mom taught me of how to
mix just the right amount of
sugar and milk into it, though
it’s an art and not a science
she would say, to which i whole-
heartedly agree, though today
is not the day for any of these
fixes, but for scrubbing up
the plastic bowls she lovingly
advised you to stop placing
in the microwave, about which
i’ve reminded you only once
of her paper-thin hands in our
dishwater since she’s been gone,-
we’d know her hands anywhere

::

2: PAD and NaPoWriMo