The Salvage
Some wordage
would need no
further split
if not seen to
timber over
pierced ears
like Venison,
dear
where we meet
in the middle
cut, the eater
and the kill
the rubber,
and the steel
on pivot, shift
of accident,
and the odd
salvation of it
swiveling, in driver seat
aproportioned
in Ziplock and Tie
ten for the risen
and one for the fallen
some for jerky, or broths
and the rest for good company
like Offertory,
ruminant
2024 MAY 08
When is the Art
Sometimes, I hang up
my hang ups,
hang them
like Abstracts
tacked to the gallery,
where every eye, in hush
lullaby, ooo's and aaah's
ogling the trailing
indigestion of a comet
caught between lashes,
a once shooting star
hung, in a moment
of Indecision--
overheated,
or underdone
--either way,
fully, tendered.
2024 APR 28
The Line
Take a certain length
of, let's say
fiber—
of, that which
there is never enough
in the span of human diet
and we fein check
tensile strength
of, pushing, pulling
from index to thumb
right and left,
or taking a tooth
primitive to,
gnaw it
quick like
in a suture
of, temporary
fit—
to be tied off
and dispensed with
like a dangling
preposition
to which proposition
of, we need
only append—
some customary phrase
of, furthermore
or as well—
or something similar,
as to extend
the remark—
without altering
effect and continuity
of, thought
or wire
on which dial tone
depends—
the somewhere
along, the spectrum
or broadband
of, understanding
that follows us
like umbrage
taken, in defense
of, the long shadow
behind the hooker's
lashes
or the dalliance
that melts us
into common shade
of, divergence
and still we look
in storybook reference
for the Guiseppi
connection
individual,
what keeps us
assembled, schooled
and attentive—
to the draft of work
we were meant,
as lineage—
to accomplish
what withal
invisibly held
strands
of, that lower
and raise
our arms and teeth
like piano keys
and animate our feet
in directions
of, or way wards
we might
question—
drawing attention,
if the public crease
of, our mouths might
speak independent
of, the projection
in the diaphragm
that resounds
with authority
of, ventriloquists
and master scripts
of, social recital
amid the wool
we are pulling
as we ready our trays
at the soup counter
where we ration
and gather
our portion
of, hallucinatory
daily fare—
while
at the back
of, is waiting
the rod and the bait
not spared with image
notes, smoke or underline
reflected in the
buoy of, water
with a smear
from the corner
of, a blurry signature
and every fading
memory mark
on paper
of, any me,
myself—
and
I
2024 APR 18
In Black & Gold Scroll
Here, Here!
The flame red Monarch
may be flummoxed
among the furling
or unfurling of its
Savannah flowers,
but is never deaf...
It may well be said:
the migrant Butterfly
is all eyes and ears...
Wings flapping wild
with elephant stampede...
The King of Insects Hears.
2024 APR 16
*this is a curious entomological fact
Holy Saturday
I will write
something beautiful
for this Time
that too shall
come
like us
on bended knee
humbled
in passing
confessing
Its inadequacies
...Shorten
as Sin...
blurred
with all feeling
which too
will come
to pass
on bended knee
...Penance
upon the grounds
of Existence
and Its itinerary...
we name the days
though they are
like flowers
pushing up
over us
as color on film
in distinctive patterns
of ambiguous
scents
that too
have come
to pass
in a vase or photograph
and wilt in comparison
to the Fall of a felt tip
on the calendar
and the Spring
plucking
of memories
and prayers
with ballpoint
click...
planted
on any given
Sunday
2024 MAR 30
The Thirst Unquenched
The cuff
of the shirt sleeve
crusted beyond dignity
and the gods left
another link
for me
a break, in desert heat
metal on metal
There upon the old geolwe
That water pressure keeper
for EMT capped
the Sun, yellowed
and now faded
into dark,
a step away
from Emergency
Slow, that broken-thought
was the message
stumbled on,
not for naught...
'Open' with an arrow
turning in,
That was the Word...
permanently Embossed
2024 MAR 27
Customers Only
Time is a magazine
an empty clip
the invisible hand
at the end of it
having released
the lock
and now
we hear
the
drip
drip,
drip...
mistaken
for tick, tick,
mortality in the gears
stuck, twists:
"I'd rather,
a revolver,
than a semi
automatic..."
but beggars,
are stalled,
as they say...
on the outside
of it...
2024 MAR 22
It All Ends Up in the Stomach
Some may ruminate
we are Devil's food
or molten lava
cake
something
sickly sticky
at the most glorious
red white set
checked picnic
on high
but it's unlikely
along this trail
we are more
a beef jerky
half-cured
yanked
around
masticated
dry
in the mouth
then swallowed
hard
tasteless
after awhile
sitting
something
heavy
in the bowels
2024 FEB 25