>from the cervical curve
hoisted by a hook
toward fresh air
casting through waves
of uncounted sand pits
to catch biological blips
but hopelessness all there
the eyes perceive falling.
>from the cervical curve
hoisted by a hook
toward fresh air
casting through waves
of uncounted sand pits
to catch biological blips
but hopelessness all there
the eyes perceive falling.
>so many things ache
at just the right moment
perhaps this is your clue
peer deeper, but crawl
first to the edge of time
swing out your head then
weakly it boils, the mirror
nothing more, pale magic
each churning growl a claw
a shriek, then a bark nearer
play thankful, some distance soon clearer
i cannot push, i will never push forth
but there you are, shot, yards wrestling inches
and then splash like a cough of startled finches.
>you can or cannot
worry about the slate
of your children, rain
underfoot ten-toed trail
a creeping crack run through
with bold weeds
interrupting shape
then bigger, then shod
finally too weak to tamp
the overwhelming green
again, on your knees.
>Please. Keep close, the best part’s almost here. ( its anatomy: fearful & round blossoms from, replant redolent dead sordid bunch watches the weather & peels hopeless basketweaver emerge berried handfuls mixed with sweat, though lash branded skin in one motion strips reveals a crosshatched plain of sweet. fearful from the weather of the bundle through which, where, anything might emerge but ) Soon we will swim in the cool cave full of warm water.
>Sometimes, memory
is calling what is not:
broken series, the
unashamed oak
peppermill, or
syncopation: all
a thing & not-thing.
There we are
at the shore
of ourselves
getting ready
to swim.
>I’m at the edge of things
all of me, unafraid
and the edge even so the edge
flexes so a brave thing
might
sail beyond where it betrays laughter
like a heavy weight adds ply
mistakenly sings me, this withering
bloom and another thing to swallow
the rye & pitching sail, free to spite
black ribbon drawn to the spool
beyond pupil, beyond discernible will
I’m at the edge of things
half of me, afraid of what’s come
Hand’s blade a threat, the promise of waves
so flat & calm, salts across
and across again
again
The brave thing returns
again the rush question
rising and with a beg
in hand pleads a waxy
whip up back behind an ear
the eyes whispers as in sleep
rips, rips a heart into the ribbon
(and) I’m at the edge of things
remembering the edge of things
(and) where I stand.