Walk

yes, conflicting matrices of concern-
one step, ever onward, undescribed the rhythm goes.
scaffold I-beams decked with plywood
like a giant body model,
wind-murmuring tree beside it
jigsawed into crude wood wall 'round construction site.

now silent tree
now light-bathed gentle the building's jagged lines.
now I let be
now to moments due course my hard held day reclines.

seasonals

winter

scribbled on the back of notecards,
the world's alive!
the winter's wonderful!

darting swallows,
swaying trees
that whistle-rush

the world's alive,
the winter's wonderful!

footsteps crunching on the pavement
thumping rhythms, happenstance,

wind that freezes all and blue sky,

world's alive!
the world's alive

early spring morning

There's something about that morning light
That fills me up with joy-
A rhythm playing deep inside,
Thumps and patters,
When clouds flare softly,
Even buildings,
Look alive.

When you inhale the newness,
In the depths of the city,
Cavernous walls of concrete spires,
Are not sad, are not,
Overwhelming,
They are alive
In orange light.

more poems!

--

noontime sun

the angel of recovery,
she succors me, she succors me
when peals of laughter twinge my glee
she succors me, she comforts me
when smiles rustle the memories
she weeps and hugs and counsels me.

--

echoes
they found it searching through his pockets,
just a dead kid, he was then,

a passport and this passing notebook,
words like heiroglyphics scattered
'cross the pages water-matted.

and a smile curved on blue lips,
because it was fine,
it was all okay as the sun
was rising.

--

her majesty

she sits, at peace with square wood table,
haphazard accouterments,
wine glass catching winking candle light,
wallet near the table's edge,
cell phone dormant on its perch.
strands of hair that
hug her face that
angles downward,
to knee-balanced magazine.

coax back the hair from
your tired face, oh sovereign.
this place has laid its soul before you,
and you, ever wise,
body lounging, tense with sleep and primed to spring,
you, in deference, do not care,
thou dame of New York City,
thou maid of Sunday evening.

--

untitled:

Traipsing down the boulevard the avenue when times is hard I'll think of you when times is hard I'll think of you when times is hard
Days have past old house is strange so big warm cold with useless things I eat a meal so healthy bright I used to lead a simple life I used to lead a simple life
The noise outdoors it pours it pours out reasoning through concrete pores a city rages at the gates of sanity and mind berates, tramples over stages and states, stages and states it masticates
Backlogged and clogged, intentions bogged, the clear city is man-made fog the bodies of trees smashed to logs the milk of oil in plastic jugs the lullabys are croaked by thugs the druglords fight against the drugs.
Redoubtable and beatable this second slowly wanes, did panic of the overload give way to mindless gains? Imbalance, hungry, powerful is this big man-made world machine. Some things receive their belly full some things are smashed up in between.

--

final
there are books hanging from walls,
there are not plates floating all around the room,
dribbled with crumbs, splotched with salt lakes of melted ice cream.
there is success in this humid exhaustion,
there is nothing in these vapors of satisfaction
that surround her memory, that waver like a talisman of wisping white gauze
around her face
her lips
as she smiles
and her eyes burn through what is and isn't,
though they can't
for she is leaving,
and this room is spent.

--

Pastoralated

Carried onward in a van,
Family and dog in tow,
What we pass is not "countryside";
It is the thinly concealed
Digested landscape
Of the industrial beast.

Grasses waver in the breezes,
Sand-crabs shuffle in the sand,
White and black and green for sunlight,
Every curve its own purpose,
Every motion tilts another.
Fluttering cycle, mindless submission
to wind, to, "whoooooosh,"
to "changes in pressure:"

Too many words transformed this land,
A kingdom that we understand,
I command and comprehend,
I Descend as I ascend.

Some poems

Double story-
Beats and rhythm,
Breath semantic,
Breath physical.
Winds along the trees that waver through the branches mimic your breath,
Stories in and stories out,
Chains of rhythm all around.

--

a moment bought at high price
soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
a second stolen, pens beseeching
doors close shut, now past the space.

--

Handfuls of gravel tossed Are not meaningless
Rasping of wind Patiently shapes desert sands

--

every doily coat of arms

The force of savor necessary
Slide the smile across the table
Picked up at the other end,
feel the best that you are able.

But resplendent in long woods
The torment of the wolf resounds,
Burn reticence with leaning pines,
vital breath breaks silly bounds.

film of exoskeleton,
fits the dreaming city's needs
every doily coat of arms
protects a world that wants what seems.

--

animus

movement, movement that hates itself, always moving can't escape.
torment, torment will indulge itself, longing dead for your embrace.
the animus raises clawed hands to the sky,
human hands constricted and bloody, sharp nails, i could swear,
could have sworn, yes, hear o people three fingers there seemed to be
on that animus's hand.
not five-
one for you and one for me,
one for agony.

--

gone are the days

when starry-eyed whitmans

can describe this city,

feeling its heartbeat.

flown away have the sailors

who personified commerce

on grungy piers.

obscured and infinite, rapid and high-up

the web that pulls this world like a puppet.

--

The silence waits beyond the flesh,
The charm of you, the charm of me,
I sought your mind and got your love,
Bare bodies wrought, disarming me.

The distant face works spectral wonders
Wordless wires incise the tablets,
Two eyes drinking in sweet blunder,
Dreams mock touch, we charming three.

--

Post script

To you its simple,
said through her:
The reader's mind not sole-ly wound;
Your nimble tricks in metered verse
Render your soul a hole profound,
Twisting, mauling loving sounds.