floating and leaving no trace
let the hands move
they move
they move on
they move of their own accord
a truth in their movement
a truth in how
they slide
the hands slide
the hands pause
and trace shapes
and trace curves
let them trace
let them draw
let them follow
and grasp
and hold
each hand
five fingers true
and a truth in the muscles
and in the tendons
and in the bones
and in the marrow of the bones
and in the anima that moves them
always with interested dance
ugly in applying
do the drunk hungry position
and so so so
hungry for remedy road
get it in me
just my obsessed position
so screw this tired
this
all new stories
no reprints
the western bluebird hops along
the top of the fence
but stops long enough
to have his photo taken
a photo opp
on his tour of
thrilling tales
of home improvement
the two women in kimonos
pause in the flooded street
sharing a blue umbrella
the views are only
the beginning
we’re going to need
a rosetta stone to
this is the last day of the month
the month i was born in
in case you wondered why i–
i don’t know if i care about the month
the month is just a collection of weeks
weeks a collection of days
days that are streaming past me faster
faster than i can ever remember
remembering when the summer would stretch
stretch on forever like a cat caught mid
caught mid stretch, i guess
i guess
watch out for rattlesnakes
is what he says on the next leg
of the hike
and i keep my eyes on the dirt track
as if there’s not enough to think about
with the vague threat of
mountain lions and bobcats
coyotes too, i guess
and when he points out the
tarantula wasp
someone asks the redundant question
are there tarantulas here
of course there are
it has to feed its young after all
so i keep my eyes on the dirt track
and lift them occasionally to scan
the scrub for winged or coiled rattlers
or sometimes to get a look at my surroundings
it’s all scrub brush
all dusty chaparral
with an occasional lizard
or roadrunner
or hawk wheeling in the sky
it’s beautiful here, too
and lonely in its way
with the sun burning off
and the chatter of the group
and the sighing wind
on the ridges
in the canyons
Friday Haiku Time
—–
malicious squirrel
eating my peaches boldly
better watch your back
the lady of shallot
got a raw deal
in my opinion
if only her mirror
had picked up hbo
or netflix
instead of shadows
it was the
reflections
of all those little people
and their little lives
that made her bored
until one goddamned
shining star
too good for anyone
but a queen rode by
and made her look
she should have saved
camelot
and dropped a rock
on his thick head
in the dream there is a group
of boys playing freeze tag on
a lawn that gets mowed every
weekend and the streetlights
have come on, their glow yellow
and menacing on a summer night
a spaceship in purple and green
cuts through the nascent darkness
and no one notices as everyone is
grozen on the lawn wsiting to be
freed by the remaining hidden player
why not jump in
with both feet
and eyes closed
you’ll never find out
how deep the mystery
goes
unless you are willing
to sacrifice
your safety
the sky is blue
but it’s not the same blue
and the clouds are high
but not as high
or as white
and the air is cold
but not as thin or dry
and sits heavy in the lungs
already
the day is filled
with going and doing
and not enough being
one walk
one attempt to sustain
has us finding a lizard
carelessly killed
and grieved only by
the mourning of doves
the buzzing of insects
and the two of us
placing him in the shade
so that he won’t be hit again
i wonder how different here
can be from there
where signs warn
not to step on cryptobiotic soil
and here the lizard
with his beautiful blue stomach
couldn’t move fast enough
in a world moving much too fast
Words and Feathers 