in the crooked end
of a thunderous day
all these colors
marching cross the floor
in turncoat uniform
the way you meant to go
in dark straight lines
but the labyrinth picked you up
on tiny golden bird wings
dropped you down
into the well
of expectation
deliverance in perfect
pirouette form
spinning leaves and knitted landscape
into this holey shawl
of absolution
…
release the girl you buried in sand
the broken mug you carried in hand
release the sun you held like rain
the bitter voice that slipped your name
release the carry
the call
the fall
release the heartbreak
of us all
release the truth you thought you knew
release the lies that no one threw
release the center
raw and runny
release the words that can’t be funny
release the cry
the sigh
the tarry
release the rhyme
the time
the merry
release the weight that broke your bones
release the scars carved from stone
release the hate
the love
the fear
release the flaws
that brought you here
…
i broke the last egg
as you gathered
berries
it wasn’t breakfast
we were hunting
sideways and
loop-edged
in the miracle
of kitchen
crumb-crunch on the floor
fresh bread
daily broken
the sound so much less
than silence
scriff-scruff
and ground level
eyes never met
through a limerick
of dance
you were always so bawdy
and i was the pattern
true pitch
ticking time
to your song
of burnt flesh,
soft toast,
crooked finger
and
the beauty of brittle
the freedom of
letting go
holding hands with life’s sadness
old loves on a corner
with no place to meet
the silence of soliloquy
or the tree
that falls
to tell its own story
setting seed
also known as
forgiveness
…
windows
wide open
for a moment
of fresh
inhale
exhale
bounce off
horizon
bird song dawn
and sunset singing
we’re all here
spreading green
it’s all new
all old
the same
same
circle
always here
lending
a hand
…
yesterday i saw
just floating along
on this river of tall information
a tiny white scrap
inscribed with the words:
survival isn’t enough
a meme or a tweet or a post by a host
dropped by someone post-haste in the knowing
as with so many lines caught deep in the waves
of this infinite brick-brackish water
and i smiled to myself
just a flash
before thinking
oh child just you wait
because darling
survival
is
plenty
and yes
there is always much more
we can do with its gift
more to learn
more to love
more to cherish
but oh, my friend
in the color of end
survival
is quite simply
being
watching the way you peeled an onion
hiding tears in a scented candle
rose-sandlewood-something when really
it was the smell of smoke you hoped to hide
long after you’d quit and we both knew
it was him again
lingering in places you’d already scoured
as i peeled carrots, chopped celery, sliced
a moon down the side of one finger
before either of us noticed it was raining
and you were gone
the world is on fire
stop what you’re doing
no
stop
nothing is fair and the sky is lit
broken
stop
listening
smiling dancing and buying
stop building hiding
breathing
complaining
stop spinning
stop spilling
stop drilling
for rain
i’m an ocean of echo
on the tilt-shift of dragon
i am gold and philosophy
still and bespoken
i am school with no student
blinded by billow
i’m the cloud of refrain
in a field of forgotten
stop
clumsy and violent
in our destruction
carnivore
herbivore
sure-footed-thunder
bearing down
on no future
the world is burning (turning)
turning (burning)
bleak mornings
endless nights
fear stirred by anxiety’s spear
searching for hope
in a world
already scarred
(scared)
i have a pebble
to offer
worthless
polished
smooth
by worry
set high on a shelf
worn
whole
silent
waiting
.
.
.
and now they say it’s not that bad, the sky isn’t
falling and here we are, bits of blue in our hair,
trapped in the rat-maze tracks we’ve worn in the
carpet, no longer even trying to get out.
and now they say sorry, so sorry, sorry, not sorry
and no one knows who cares, doesn’t care,
can’t care, wouldn’t care, cares too much,
has gone mad with the caring, can’t find
a damn thing to care about.
and now the sky is blue but it’s always raining and
the basement’s flooding, water seeping in around
the edges, no one sees if we close the door, ignore
the smell, carry on with dinner and distraction and
pretend people aren’t dying in a dark spreading puddle
of sour statistic.
and now. the question that only ever has one
answer, the damned unprepared living of it all,
smiling when the sun hits your face for one brief
silent moment, aching for life, alive love
laughter landing, burning through the
empty stare of days.
and now.
…
