floating and leaving no trace
the air leeches the moisture from my skin
and my eyes burn in this attempt
at paradise in the desert
rabbits emerge from bushes long enough
to catch a glimpse of us then retreat
a white cotton flash to their kin
i step on sidewalks not the rust red earth
water sprays from sprinklers
and i wonder about the green when i come
from a land of drought
the wind stings my eyes
a lone rabbit–maybe the smallest of them all
has no fear
and for her i am afraid
i hear a rustling
like dried leaves
caught in a hot wind
coming from the spare room
i surprise my father
in the act of changing clothes
though silent
he seems angry
mouth clenched closed
like a vise
eyes squinting in judgment
you know you’re dead, right?
next year
he will be one hundred years old
and has been haunting me
from house to house for almost
a quarter of that century
both he and the clothes
are transparent
and when i remind of
of his non-corporeal state
he loses the angry look
though burly in life
he shrugs his grave-thin shoulders
fades away
with the sound of a brittle page
of an old book being turned
the invisible woman repeats numbers
like those soviet radio stations
my head fills with curvilinear
whorls of snail shells and fingerprints
the smell of cigarette smoke that is not
from a cigarette seeps into my garage
as i put clothes in the laundry basket–
–this night is coming to a close
and i am still knotted up like a boy
scout’s shoelaces
it will take a sharp pair of scissors
to release me
consider the old saying
that every time a bell rings
an angel gets its wings
and think of all the times
you have heard a cash register chime
or the wall street stock exchange
or a fire alarm
or the low slow clangs of cowbells
as they are led to the slaughterhouse
what the hell are those angels making
their feathers out of
misery, greed, blood and fire?
i have always preferred birdsong
an earthly tune to be sure
unfettered yet surrounded by sky
even if it is all about territory
and sexual conquest
and where the best worms are
everything must slope downward
water will roll down the
smallest of
inclines
the silent moon will fall forever
toward an earth fleeing it
for a much larger light
my words circle the
drain before
reaching
you
sprout, o wing
burst from my shoulder blade
thou wingbone
keep my arm
secured to my body
wings are swords
slicing through the air
wings are words
eviscerating our conversations
wings are worms
grave companions
hummingbirds
joust among the bottlebrush
my heart beat once as fast
what if a genie offered
you a wish
something it swears
it wouldn’t fuck up for you
even though you know all genies
{except for barbara eden}
hate mankind
what if it offered an end
to hunger and climate change
every single human being would
have enough food
but it would be the blandest food ever
no going back
no supplementing
no more steaks
no more sundaes
no more s’mores
or apples
or peaches
or ice cream
or butter or cheese
just gray, tasteless crackers
that practically dissolve
on your tongue
too fast to get a sense
of whether they taste bad
or in fact taste at all
fat third world children
no sustenance farmers
not one single animal getting the axe
to feed a human being
ever again
all you have to do is say yes
to the little gray communion wafer
the genie is offering you
you get to decide
the genie says
no tricks
no twisty loopholes
no soylent green
waiting in the wings
a reformed genie
as affable as robin williams
and eager to save the human race
from starvation
and melting ice caps
sweet little light
how you flicker
like a fairy caught
in a darkened kitchen
you are a winged heart
and you sing as you soar
if only you weren’t so small
or this room so dark
or you voice so hard to hear
i mistook
what came
from your mouth
as words
when they
were teeth
Words and Feathers 