water rushes in the gutter
an orange streetlight competes with half a moon
for prettiest flower
Tag: moon
new year’s eve approaching (20171229)
moon almost full
rolling on a parked car windshield
not exactly basho
tides (20171205)
you hang in the sky
a morning full moon
pale transparent stranger
alone in winter white expanse
i’ve known you forever
as long as i’ve known
the moon
i don’t know you at all
don’t recognize
these changing faces
that wax and wane
while you pull at my tides
i beg for cloud cover
and remember how you cut me
and how i had to cauterize
my own wounds
so i wouldn’t bleed out
super moon
you burn through my night
cold light closer than the clouds
dancing in my vision
s’alright (20170912)
somehow i sliced
a small arc into
the skin below
the first knuckle
and now it is a red
waxing crescent
much like the imprint
of an invisible
sharp fingernail
digging in
either in anger or fear
moon in the west
after sunset
cyclopian señor wences
song fragment (20170710)
we collected teeth along the shore
hey la, hey la, hey la
a necklace shiny and bright made we
hey la, hey la, hey la
a night and forever its length you wore
hey la, hey la, hey la
as i spoke with the voice of the sea
hey la, hey la, hey la
the moon shines pale upon your breast
hey la, hey la, hey la
now for eternity we are dressed
hey la, hey la, hey la
lunation (20170608)
the moon is a rabbit
keeping itself warm
on this not-yet-summer night
it doubles up on itself
in all that darkness
baggage (20170430)
the celestial beast
casts a shadow across
the moon as heavy
as god’s anchor
a sea boils, somewhere
and it stinks
of cans of tuna
and anchovies in oil
——
Last Day of National Poetry Writing Month!
Day 30
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gutter (20170208)
dog–my companion
gutter full of stilled water
we race with the moon
demolding (20161211)
i made a mold of my arm using
food-grade alginate, the same stuff
dentists use to make impressions
of your teeth when you’ve got a crown
in your future (too bad the palace
and regalia don’t come with it)
working my arm free was an exercise
in patience and a slow struggle
against the vacuum that
adhered to my fingers and held them
firmer than any handshake
in the end, there was a sucking pop
and my arm came free
i used the mold to cast a model
of my arm in plaster
all the pores
all the veins
recreated in moon-white
manmade stone
i think that’s the way
i want to be born
if i get a second shot
at this shit
my soul pulled out of
this gelatinous
dessert abomination
with a single deafening crack
and then a body,
static
cold
still pocked with my imperfections
but no longer yielding to time
or sensation
Words and Feathers 