i get teary-eyed where spirit meets the bone, — where we’ve always been &will be



, 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

wrapped in the sweetest beginning i think

i come from nothing, but i’ll find my way of this
as i grow and grasp to close these intangible tabs
reaching for dreamy words to shut up withery skies
straining to clamp oyster eyes together; a stop gap
for saying everyone’s pearls are the same-same.

i come from backlogs, from avocado green couches
from whence sprang some well-grounded whispers;
but i believe in night, and i believe it’s okay to sleep
on heartache as i’ve supposed i’ll be living a long-long
time, so help me God in these nothing-but-nothings.


for Real Toads

Play Dumb With Me

play dead with me tonight

  like some play footsie

     cavort & do things in the woods

play nice with me tonight

   like some porcelain pleaser

      taking & thanking & thanking

play dumb with me tonight

   like some who don’t know how

    to open their mouths, lift their tongues

play like you mean it tonight

like someone groping blindly

  madly fondling for the dazzling void


[for Poetic Asides & submitted to Real Toads]

It’s How We Float

outside of ourselves
leaving this heavyweight world
~~we are featherweight~~

Switchfoot’s FLOAT video

Returning From a Flower Viewing

If you make tea for people returning from a flower viewing, displaying a painting of flowers or birds, or a flower arrangement in the tearoom is inappropriate. – Sen No Rikyu

But, if someone’s strumming a harp’s G-string in a concentrated, concerted effort in the tea room, as if it were a guitar G trying to make out like a mock machine gun, well even this is a luminous labor of afternoon love-making compared to the halting slap-in-the-face from coming in from the out-of-doors fully drenched in leggy flowers, the jazz of bees, pistils and petals, to face a fragmentary and ridiculously pasty-painted landscape some hack thought encompassed all. It cannot encompass all. I’ve just seen the stamen and pistil, for God’s sake.

day 27 for NaPoWriMo
and Real Toads