Tuesday, February 23, 2016


This moment is liquid, breached with spring peepers,
It is sandalwood smoke lifting prayers to Lakshmi,
Lifting standard bearers, it ups the ante.

It is a cool breeze up a cervical column, shivering 
in Morse code, a genetic ladder to the roof,
to Jupiter to a far black hole in one.

Nebulas yawn a kaleidoscopic Neverland promenade,
and gravity waves sing their arias of emptiness
and full again, in nano-rhyme, in tiny grand statements.

This moment is rich in grandchildren and great grandchildren,
grows thin with constant attention, runs curious as coyote,
moans in silken orgasm. This moment is ready as 4 o'clock.

It swirls perdition within paradise, it bobs on Adriatic waves,
swells with orphans adrift, threatens to wash us away.
It uncurls sad lingering memory, clings to vital shadow kin.

This moment is mitosis: gold to lead, sunflowers to chickadees, you to me.
It has folded the day into 366 paper cranes, each head upturned.
This moment is ululation, rooster crowing, white sheets on wind.

It is quicksilver, rolling about in the palm of our hand. Heavy,
we want to unpack it.  Like Grendel, it would swallow us whole.
It is courier, prayer bead, moonlight on the Pacific.

This moment wears a chrysalis, maybe chrome, maybe feather. 

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Ode to my Horoscope in Five Parts

Day 1
Mercury Pluto conjunction. You might wake up believing you are in possession of the ultimate solution to save the world but you can’t seem to get anyone to listen.

No doubt 
Obama got the same message.
And Hillary
And Kim Jong-un 
And my mother
It blows in fresh from dream dimension
Where all is soft clay, blank canvas, new score,
of course we can save the world.  First possession,
grit and truth under our nails.  Stardust and cobwebs.
Mercury has perched in the maple.  He’ll relay our allegiance
To his far brother. I pledge allegiance to the woodlands, 
to their cloud conjuring prowess, 
their cleansing alchemy, their largesse. 
Seems very ultimate, we’ll plant 50,000 trees.
I pledge allegiance to permaculture, I’ll chop wood and carry water.
Surely it’s the pace that presses us into problem. 
Pluto is behind this reinvention.
Make it no secret!
I pledge allegiance to the shrinking icecaps.  They’ll raise the water,
Wash away our sins and our cities. Baptism of the nth degree. 
Nice rehearsal, before the sun hits the slats. 
And it’s a fool that steps up to the Launchpad.
Day 2
You’re overdue for respite from the hectic pace of your daily life.  But might not experience any relief today.

This is what hurry looks like
The race of storm clouds, filling empty blue sky
The rush of hornets angry about a bump of nest
The flash of red water down a desert canyon
The flush of blood to my cheeks when I feel you near.

So don’t bother with the respite, stars and moons
This lovely briskness to life is vinegar in the honey
It soothes the dirge of duty
I’ll be satisfied to fill hectic out today
Hurry to collapse.

Day 3
You’re waiting for something big to happen, yet whatever it is remains out of reach.

Magic is afoot if only you believe
State of purple mind
Mind of milky heart
Heart of solid proportions
Proportions of daily measure
Measure in ample time
Time graces the lucky
Luck is the potion of the foolish
Fools have magic in abundance
Abundance slips back under my pillow.

Day 4
Loved ones come to the rescue today, encouraging you to shrug off any self-limiting talk.

Hypersensitive cancer full moon on thunderstorms
Rumble with bad indigestion
Fever chills the whole caboodle
Earth has a case of the human flu
Spring peepers chirp at Christmas
A healing song, best medicine
Rain wants to make everything better
Perhaps without mudslides in El Salvador

Day 5
Taking care of chores, you should have done yesterday, will be less burdensome.

Still chores
Still palaver
Still in duty
Still in love
Still listening to Beethoven
Still amazed
Still wind in the trees
Still squirrels on the feeders
Still shadows receding
Still moments of regret
Still bringing resolution
Still bringing curiosity
Still finding satisfaction
Still another line to read
Still another moment to dream
Still parts to welcome
Still souls to greet
Still seeking balance
Still finding home
Still laughing out loud
Still making a plan
Still making a practice
Still watching
Still forgetting
Still forgiving
Still being here
Still being here
Still being here

Sunday, February 7, 2016

Crash Landing

Four AM pulls its brittle seam to snap open another wish bone night,
Venus has mounted Jupiter, and they’re headed for the barn.

It is the hour of cracked kettles, when dreams simmer, and my dark woman 
uncurls like fiddlehead, the bud more painful than the blossom. 

She cloaks me and we are spoons in a drawer, we are hidden agendas, 
we hark back to somewhere between mauve intention and first light. 

She hovers within me, pretends to speak for the chaos of shoes
in a tumble around the bed. They might as well be our punctuation 

for the day ahead. We crawl on our bellies as apostrophe bridges. 
In tantric mudras, we bend like ampersand.  Our vagary is an ellipsis.

It corduroys the moment into runway lights, and I have confounded 
the undercarriage. We could pray for water, but today waking is

a crash landing. Even so, I lift my tongue to croon in awkward aubade 
with my shadow kin.  She’s pouring us coffee, and I climb inside her skin.