that's mrs. mediocrity to you

.

.

crescent

i am howl-edged
and harp-hounded

running miracles
through tattered
branch-armed
paths
in the darkness

of sanity’s

lair

.

. . . . .

.

.

body & soul

and the inevitable

push

pull

of attempting
to define
either

one

.

. . . . .

.

.

and we laughed
at the eternity
of sunsets

happy to be alive
and married
to our own vision
of mystery

the future
wrapped up
in wire-edged
gold mesh
ribbon

a gift
we will
never quite

open

.

. . . . .

.

.

frayed

if i had a word to sing

i would hold you
accountable

pronounce you
intractable

whisper false
accents

trace a clef
on a wrist

or a sixteenth
elsewhere

in a dissonant
concordant

letter

.

. . . . .

.

.

when it’s over

let them say
i grew
a garden
of
compassion

.

. . . . .

.

.

virtual reality

all i need
is a mirror
that reflects
the shape
of memory

.

. . . . .

.

.

i bought a tree once

and it’s still
sitting in my garden
still
in the same black nursery pot
stunted and hungry, yes
but still alive

i’ve lost track
of how many years
it’s been
and yes
i’m embarrassed and
ashamed and
guilty

(life gets away from you
sometimes)

but i must admit
i admire
the refusal
to die

.

. . . . .

.

.

on learning to breathe
(again)

nothing is ever forgotten
but rather, buried

one day you will decide to clean
and sweep aside a leaf

and there it will be:

the empty bowl
of everything

.

. . . . .

.

.

the way irony has
no sense of humor

and still we carry on with living
even in the midst of chaos

step outside to song of robin
filtered through
cacophony

ten million geese
(from the sound of it)
fill the air
with riot

a crazy quilt of noise
blankets silence

as earth grows warm and roots
spread fingers

seeking growth
in the darkest
of places

.

. . . . .

.

.

if hemingway had wings

i think a lot about
the difference
between
art and artist
words and author
music and composer

one is immortal, one is not
one is ethereal, one is human
one is creation, one is destruction

i always stop

there

.

. . . . .