shaken with solitude,
swallowed up by the womb.
hands that built fires,
gnarled, clench and unclench.
the old clay pot
filled with silent dirt.
coats hung on the hook,
boots that dont travel.
telephone lines cut,
the ink fades on the page.
thump! thump! thump!
old hearts still pound.
and the darkness is sticky
with the memory of fire!
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the darkened streets
lights come and go,eternity breaks the glass.and right and wrong,frozen on the ground…smokestacks, abandoned cars,vacant buildings ran by rats.the hungry hand,the mouth of poverty.the addict’s needle,the body in the alley.the woman beaten,her face blackened and bloody.the click of the hammeron an empty chamber.and the houses beckon,with lighted roomswhere shadows move ina most familiar way.the smell…
shotguns, and ice,
burnt edge of a rose,barefoot in jeans.wrinkled, but firedancing in your eyes.the smell of morningbefore darkness dies.the cling and the hold,mouth, heart, and soul.the river unleashed,raging out of control.the taste of the unnamed,unseen, and untold.stardust in my handstoo elusive to hold.hymn of the night.song of the day.what fills empty,and then goes away.how precious the moment,the…
morning splintered,
dried blood on the concrete wallsof an abandoned building.you call this America!lives wrapped in color,in calloused hands.standing in linefor a loaf of bread.a bullet, a token,a fresh covered grave,you call this America!you wear your god in sunday best,throw words and prayersinto a bottomless well.afraid of your shadows,you arm yourselves,you call this America!the hands of take…
whose voice? whose image?
whose silent pillow we share?whose rain? whose desire?whose moon holding tides?whose dark lips against our breast?whose hammer? whose apron?whose tick of the clock?whose hand wiping away tears?whose black? whose white?whose cough in the night?whose branch against the window?whose pockets? whose empty?whose wetness that clings?whose moth upon your shoulder?whose death? whose life?whose kiss to your hunger?whose…
Sunday morning redemption…
the silence that only Sunday brings.the week behind, jumbled and lost.sifting through the news,what needs attention?what cant be helped?where do we turn the wheeland place the blade?whose faces, whose names?an invitation to think,and ghosts that walk beside.the righteous shave and shower,putting on their best.somewhere a street bum asksfor a coupla dollars,trying to panhandle breakfast.cleaning the…
crows bark,
grass moans,mountains whimper like children.trees groan and turn,rivers dance in silence.owls speak Greek and Hebrew,and cattle speak in tongues.snakes plant corn by moonlight,and snails dance in the dark.turtles carry messages from god,and hawks search the skies for truth.buddhas laugh…and small children know.why have we forgotten?