these stars are not your stars
you look elsewhere for light
now you are laughing, smiling
you eyes are lit from within
here the sky darkens later
it is the same darkness
——
image courtesy of DominiksPhotos
floating and leaving no trace
these stars are not your stars
you look elsewhere for light
now you are laughing, smiling
you eyes are lit from within
here the sky darkens later
it is the same darkness
——
image courtesy of DominiksPhotos
mash the avocado with a fork
leave some chunks
add lemon juice, salt, garlic
chili to your tolerance
slice an onion in half
while it still lives
in its skin
press your thumb
into a layer below
the dried outer paper
feel the layers separate
your thumb a medium
a wedge dividing
the outside from the inside
you don’t have to remove the skin
yet
just feel that moment
caught between together
and apart
every word
a wedge finding its way
between my layers
each word a manicured thumb
breaking me apart
but leaving me intact
mince well
serve with homemade
chips
these christmas frogs
serenade santa claus
from the swollen creek
these ghosts hover
like the shimmer
of christmas booze
over a dickensian pudding
[so many dead
–the poet said]
no one waited until spring
no thaw
and frost flowers
blossomed from gravesite earth
poinsettia and holly berry
heart color bright for the season
pleasing to view
poison to taste
divided by a pair of aces and nines
yet in my dreams
always together
striving
poem schmo-em
says the cat
curling in my lap
and resting her head
in the crook of my
typing arm
christmas carols play on the radio
a classical station
so i don’t get to
hear any bing, frank, mel, or elvis
one wall separates my office
from the garage
allowing me to hear
the washing machine draining
the dryer spinning
tossing clothes on the eco-cycle
i lower my head
to the desk
and strain to hear
domestic music
but it’s all horns
and violins
and the dog obsessively
cleaning his paw
gristle and thistle and sharpened teeth
dwell under skin and hide beneath
the roiling swell of too-hot blood.
ashes to ashes, and dust to mud
we gather together to raise the dead
serve them cakes and moldy bread
return again to the silent tomb
just another word for womb
the sudden impact
shattered tarsals
launched femurs
\cracked iliac crests
synovial sacs burst
as splintered bones
tore through bone
and much softer
more fragile tissues
–would you do it again?
–probably
the air transforms my words
into cold clouds
cold words
fearful ones
laughter as well
i inhale
my teeth complain
–maybe the new crown
but maybe maybe maybe
this winter air
has pack us in ice
a garage freezer
keeping us fresh til spring
if my words turned into snowflakes
i would catch them in my palm
and let them melt
if your words turned into snowflakes
i would catch them on my tongue
and swallow them
the dog left a footprint
in the mud
that the rain washed away