web in the morning (20210420)

the morning sun
lights up a spider’s single strand
stretching across the trail
a filament bristling like glass
as bright as any fiber optic thread

it makes no sound
as i pass through
expecting the tight twang
of a snapping violin string
or the light bell ring
of breaking glass

filtered light (20210419)

i steady myself against
the rotten tree

it cracks
breaks
falls

carpenter ants scatter
confused by this
home invasion
domestic destruction
this kaiju of a man

breaking things as
he lumbers through
the woods

isn’t this always the way
loud
clumsy
bending nature either by
accident
or design

but never truly passing through
like sunlight
between leaves

less than nothing (20210415)

the noise buzzing
the eternal hum
that is both in
and not in
my ears

has no
resemblance to music
no beat and no accentuated
pitch

if i concentrate
closing my eyes
a sine wave resolves itself
against my eyelids
but this is the invisible illusion
of sound

what is heard is not even
the pressure of disturbed air

nursery rhyme (20210413)

i’m a little teapot
short and stout
ain’t got no handle
ain’t got no spout
when i get all steamed up
can’t even shout
gonna blow like a porcelain pottery bomb
the green tea and tea flood demands
pour me out, you sonofabitch,
and don’t forget to wash your hands

you can’t leave fingerprints
if you don’t have fingers

walt whitman and the legal composting of the dead (20210411)

out of the ground
i steal a bucket of soil
from a previously dug grave
now a healed over wound
in the loamy earth

my theft is to make
a small amount of clay
not even a handful
an artistic experiment

(this is science)
extraction
solution
excitation
suspension
filtration
refinement

(this is magic)
ritual
burial
inspiration
reformation
resurrection

my breath is the breath
of my ancestors
and yours
my hands dig and mix and form
this clay
this body of our ancestors
what whitman has assumed
i have assumed