i went to bed for week
and the world changed colors
yes, of course, i know its autumn
only it isn’t, quite
and all i’m really trying to say
is we forget again and again and again
to notice the magic all around us
blooming right beneath our hurried feet
as we focus on the fresh vines of ugliness
winding their way up twisted ankles
when what we need is to pay our heart’s attention
to the desperate grand finality of fall
…
there are no rules
for endings and beginnings
just food for thought
or wasted flavor
and it’s the light
begging shadow for definition
that makes you hungry
for the agony of full
…
may i never be too old
to sit upon the ground
before a tall and hungry fire
built from gold
trees my only witness
sky my only hold
and the river running miles
through the crackled mud between us
singing hard and true and cold
. . .
the red sun
hovers close
asking why
as if answers
could be crows
crossing distance
in shorn-shortest
feather breeze
paths
when in fact
it’s the meadow
breathing wisdom:
bloom
in the midst
of flamboyant
underused chaos
bloom
like a rose
in a sky
filled with fish
bloom
and surrender
to the hot holy blood
filling each eye
bloom
and forget
to reply
i am the leaves
that skitter on pavement
touching toe and ankle
bare and boot
and you don’t listen
to the crackle of my skin
or bear witness
to the whisper
of my decay
i feed you anyway
i am the crow
robbing blue eggs
black circling sound
from the ring
on the right-hand finger
of fortune
and you
cannot reach
the beak that bites you
i feed you anyway
i am the seeds
buried ripe beneath rows
cold arrows of root
reaching deep
through tall darkness
as you nibble buds
in the light drowning rain
of hypocrisy’s
overdrawn bloom
i feed you anyway
…
i’ve burned through all the memories
walked through fire
sifted ash
blackened fingers drawing hieroglyphs
to guide me through the grief that buries living
i light candles at dawn and bonfires at dusk
build a fortress of flame
and sleep on embers
i’ve been phoenix so many times
my house is strewn with feathers
(ankle-deep and sharp as quills)
i’ve put you out and opened windows
always feeding the desire to breathe
(which i think is the same as freedom)
i remember the night i woke in terror at the blanket of smoke swirling over my bed
i remember the way i laughed later, when it turned out to be a dream
i remember the way it still feels entirely exactly undeniably
real
truth always finds a way to be revealed
