Beautiful Day Out, Isn’t It?

I’m not supposed to just say that it breaks my heart.
Instead, my job is to express, using crafty syntax
And carefully chosen metaphors, reminders of heartbreak
That trap the reader in my lines with comfortable
White space flooding, but not quite suffocating, them
But here I am considering what that fat green metallic horse-fly,
Trapped between my closed window and the screen designed
To keep him out, might perceive a window and a screen to be
While it drums hopefully from one to the other and again.

Getting to Know You

The three moments prior were spent
Watching waves fold violently considering
How water could be molecularly similar to glass
Though not slice flesh or soften a stiff drink
So a man inside the cantina ordered two
Whiskeys straight before approaching a woman
Whose husband rested softy in her bed
Then a coconut fell and burst like a hive of bees

Opal strands swarmed. But for this quality,
Fewer than three and more than two sides, triangular.
Strands wormed into me through my nose and mouth
Through my ears and filled my sight and in its place
I found myself face to facing judgment.
As it is I find the universe sentient.

I II III

I                                     II                                   III

Giving it                    as if                           the path is set

Away                        labor is                      terrified

Believing days          opposite                     of nights

Can be called            dyslexia; a                giving of

The double shift       dratesman is               yet again

consumed                built (built)                 pawned

A Relationship Between What’s Wild and What’s Natural

I stared back
Just now
A wild creature
Who shot venom
Into me

It surprised me
As I prepared to crawl
Into my comfortable
Steamy bath
While Rebirth of Slick
Softened the tile floor

I had had my back
To its disguise
Before I turned to
Trim the strays
In my beard

We caught each others
Eyes just as it fogged
Over I knew for
One moment

What peeks from
Behind dribble bars now
Is very human

Keyword Nude

I was trying to finish a poem, hands crossed and on my desk, when I noticed a blank spot on my office wall glaring at me blankly. It was there that I found myself – after I hung a faded satellite image of Flagstaff’s grainy speckled grid of my youth – a speck within. Southeast corner of Aspen and Bonito. Fall ’97. When and where the orange air bit through my purple Suns windbreaker. My only trouble. Close-by a cheap cigar, or a pile of browned leaves, burned. A High school bell told next year nothing in particular. Libraries are warm. There I turned days like thumbing pages of black and white pictures sifting the occasional nude. Vietnam, Holocaust, Tienenman Square, Dust Bowl, JFK, Norma Jean, Elvis learned by accident.
Librarian keyword nude card catalogue learned by accident. Microfiche learned by accident. My town’s archives contained no nudes. An occasional grainy map from where I can’t. Here now. Three windows. Google Earth in my parents front yard. Tienenman Square for spelling. Nude Librarian.

Time

during the process of        terrappropriation

those with a  mind  for these things   found

two equators                         dividing lines

           dividing equal parts            one       true

static equator       and another                   imagined

equator          in motion

                                  both equally           real

the true remains a circumference

                                          perpendicular

to axis    the imagined    though

              called time

indicated by light      indicated by darkness

to our understanding     slides along a plane

perpendicular again                          to true

and out                                           and on

             on a single plane all things

             on all sides touch totality

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