floating and leaving no trace
this rain stops
time stops
the asphalt blooms
oil-black lakes
reflected headlights
stare back
from depths that disappear
with the wind’s breathing
but for now
hollow white eyes
gaze from nothing
heaven’s mirror
a hollow mass of gray wool
stretched overhead
we fill up the room
like eggs coming to a boil
in a stainless steel pot
jostling one another
breaking our skins
escaping into
salty water
hardening into thin ribbons
the sulfur smell
that is us
the bits of calcified shell
that are us
we float in salty water
we bounce and break
our centers harden
little suns
gone still
seeking a warm lap
the cat curls across my thighs
–my daughter is gone
how easily
the fire spreads
just under the skin
along a tangle of nerves
so like a branch
so like a river
and her tributaries
so like the forking fingers
of summer lightning
how easily
the flesh is brought
up to speed on the
laws of entropy
of centers not holding
of missing a
final opportunity
to go to innisfree
i trusted the earth
to catch me as i plummeted
my wings dissolving
when i realized
i had no instinct
to soar
i was not disappointed
in her embrace
summer dawn and dusk
comes the coated filthy thief
tip-toed, determined
to steal what he did not tend
and leave rotting evidence
scattered in my field
without fear of my dog’s teeth
mocking my (too-far) raised fist
he leaps from the roof
tossing a bare pit
at me in his spite–but now
the leaves have fallen
winter, no peach, no squirrel
——
when i was walking
i talked to myself
and it was a brilliant
conversation with myself
and really got off on a tangent
that would make
a brilliant piece of writing
once it was tightened up
polished like a rich guy’s
monocle
i had my notebook with me
and a pen
but i told myself
it’s too cold to stop
and write that down
you can remember it ’til
you get back to the office
and that’s why you’re
reading this
capital P capital O capital S
and if i wake up
at two am
remember what all the commotion
was about
i’ll write it down
but keep it to myself
damn it
Two–count ’em, one two–contributions for the January Open Mic page.
I love New Year’s Resolutions™.
First up is Kat’s wintry piece Ice Men. You can follow her blog (well, one of her blogs) here. And you can click directly to her reading by visiting the Open Mic Page.
Second up is Pleasant Street’s it is not as if I kept a list, who gave me a bit of (deserved) attitude since I failed to record anything last month. What can I say? December is always so busy. Elves to boss around, reindeer to wrangle. Anyway, you can hear her piece RIGHT HERE on this blog. Just mosey on over to the Open Mic Page. Bes sure to check out her site, too.
And I promise to record something soon.
today there is no smog
no hazy skies
the air bitter and cold
handfuls of clouds
hold up the sky
themselves tiny
thin-stretched hands
the sidewalk belongs
to me and my feet
alone aside from drivers
in their shipping trucks
old cars with windows that
stopped rolling up and down
smashed taillights
what might be bullet holes
smoothed over with bondo
even the guys at the
aerospace building
won’t come out and smoke
at the curb today
i make myself walk
faster to warm up
and get the hell off the street
like ancient
desert worn parchment
where the text has faded
let me curl against you
let us fold up together
let there be no dry whisper
of fingertips smoothing
our edges
no
flattening us
let us spiral together
our stories winding about
one another
——
Words and Feathers 