To Believe

Because this
Isn’t inspiration
Dedication to
Tusks, dusted
Baths, and as
Tails to ivory
Trails miles to
Find mud, rust
Coloured sun
Sets under one
Tree wild, free

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And Upon

One hundred fifty five percent. It began at two. Too young to remember an elevated vacation, they say. So, she sat with an auntie while four escaped. Funny, that eidetic memory. Corn slipped on the cob of stubby fingers. A Heath bar she thought she wanted, but sat on the end table uneaten, by the slip covered tan floral couch for a bed. Bubbles popped on t.v.

Black and white, Ansel Adams.

Photographs. Till high school, please. Finally into infinity. Green. Like breathing. Listening to mud. One of the pull offs on u.s 34, overlooking forest canyon to the big blue oval beneath the divide. Why not? As mother and daughter stumbled over that stone wall for a closer look. On the tundra. Under our feet. Feel.

She sees how her granddaughter’s shoulders relax as that gorge lake is pointed out, named. It’s the same. Untamed as a Kodak wants to be. Somewhere inside those deep trees. Living. Eating, sleeping families with dad in the den. And she never believed that bedtime story, till she was in it again.

Absinthe’d

And it got me
Drinking green
Cause gin, is
Empty, excuse
Me, vaporized
Evaporated in
Fairy wings, I
Don’t believe in
Imaginary things
Beating female
Anatomies into
Submission, it
Fogs my glasses
Past intuition
Left handed as
Anise’s fruition

BOP 913

Raised armed up
At a dare, stared in
Contempt, their done
Ones, sang song
Numb, but anonymous
Flat tasted tongued
Slipped glitter across
City streets, stage lit
Picked pad locked
Nine one, one, shut up
Mic Leavenworth’s
Lights runway’s run
Escape, says concrete
To steal away, some
How, but right now
Found on the page of
Memorization’s hand
And slammed spit
White gripped to steel

 

 

Paper Clipped And Cut

They don’t need to see
I bleed, poetry aside
Advertising, rhymes

Sometimes, at nighttime
When the mood strikes foolishness
In five, seven, five

I’m the other cheek
Speaking off the cuff of sleeves
Where heartbeat’s mind meets

Feeling with fingered
Syllables as if lingered
Longer to be seen

Or as recited
Under bright lights, memorized
Just to prove the sight

I’ve silenced, gutless
Stuck onto pages, bloodless
Paper clipped and cut

Wild

We discussed chickens, horses, and cows. How wild things are. She ate hers, pent. They’re scared, as birds are. Something got inside, tiny minds. Like a feather duster turned evil. Disagreed, meat. Hence.

Once, driving through Denver at night. City lights processing. For blocks. As at the end of Nebraska. Pillow over the nose. “Hail Mary……” Till that stench is past. And “cows” again said in pure merriment. Pretending. Semi slats lit past I-80.

Maybe cheese is tormented. Suckled. Fermented. Melted. Basil, tomatoes, extra virgin. Motherless. To change the subject. Another baby elk protected. Running for foraged cover as mother kicked the shit out of a coyote. Impasse. Hungry.