Saturday, December 31, 2016

Friday, December 30, 2016

Thursday, December 29, 2016

Father, Daughter, Nephew

An Early Rising

A pocket in these woods houses flowers'
trinket heads, nodding white on threads
off the path's crook, where fallen branches rot.

Like faint last snow along the gladdened moss
they're furnished with drips; like an egg cache
foot-tramp-open, yet pristine each one,

until with same bloom-time they come undone
like to melting snow. The whetted spears that strove
to have their sleeve hearts opened like bells

will persevere in laminous messes
netting the guttering trinket heads
wilting membranal sepia - stems vacating

while stories up flush other flames on theirs.
The forest run with clasp out of clasp, twig flares
over the forgotten snowdrop moment,

becomes trinketed glory all when swallows
fletch the breadth above the woods' womb meadow,
aslant with hushing heaves, dreaming,

rolling pollen from its slumber, swollen crown
tail-prong skimmed by the feeding birds
silent and deft, rye-buoyant over

the heaven of heat, grasshoppers beneath.
Spurned in their spurning, forerunners spent,
blossoms self-dying, that flower to die,

from low air spurn the month in its midst.
What's root of summer's heel, unclothed
from a bed of chastened flesh; always a waker

that's bitten upon the thrust unfurled of his own heel:
what's naked awake first words the heat, the light,
and summer, until all the spurning is finished.

Monday, December 19, 2016

Give me stone, give me mortar,
give me a burger with onions
and cheese, give me good weather,
give me a dark coffee with cream,
give me muscles and give me water,
give me a rather docile brain, give me
claritas, give me good dumb,
give me mountain clouds and bears,
bears in the clouds, mountains in the bears,
give me a level, give me two levels,
give me the wanton grace to stare
ordinarily dumb, shriven with dumb,
give me to know that I do not know,
give me onion rings and a beer,
give me a trap and a rat in the trap
dead as a doornail, dead as a dead rat,
give me fingertips sore and give me sore feet,
give me a new fresh day like the air,
give me a bed, give me a roof, give me dry
away from the wet, give me sufficient
vitamin D, give me wells of deep sleep,
give me to always healthily piss
without passing stones, or any trinkets,
give me to never finish a book
by Dickens or Austen or Tolstoy or Twain,
give me a trump card, give me twenty,
to buy some caviar and huck it away,
give me detachment from money,
give me freedom from poison rigidity,
from hardness towards God
by liturgical law,
and from softness towards money
by a needing maw,
give me healthy hatred of money, give me spite
for the spirit of money, the dung of the devil,
crud of the world, give me freedom
from hateful money, from silver and gold, bitcoin too,
from credit and debit, from mortgage and debt,
monopoly and risk, the game of life,
all this moronic and endless bullshit,
give me to never be a master of truth,
never let me deal in absolutes,
give me to always submit to truth,
give me to always submit to absolutes,
give me to know that I am a sheep
in need of a shepherd, give me to never
be a master of truth, or absolutes,
to hide from myself, to hide myself
in the framed mirror, give me to never
be sophomoric and rigid, ever,
give me thought for what no one thinks for,
give me care for what everyone drives over,
give me the grace to annoy the herd,
give me stone, give me mortar.