Poem-A-Day #352 : Weary As Water

Weary As Water

                                                                 The sound
                                                                                    the sky makes
                                         as clouds overtake the sun
                       makes me
                                         want to leave my body.

Be weary in this.

Allow the water to soak your fingers until you can no longer grip the mug of warm tea.

Cranberry sage. Then everything is colder, right
here the rook

moat yourself.
                        Scream into the paper bag.

                                                                     Let's pretend to be pangolins.
                                           Break our skin
                   plate the bone
                                           until we roll like cinnamon.

Let's be cream and just as weary.

Light,
          from star to starship.

Resist the impulse to build a city on rock and roll.

Fingers are less prune, more drum head, they hold things. Again they feel.

                                               Dandelion seeds
                                     must
                                              have a name beyond pinwheels.
                                                                                                  The sky is a seed bank
                                                                 endlessly emptying
                                                 the body.
                                The body.

Poem-A-Day #284 : Body

Body

          How
                                        far          is the border
of the body

                    Press finger          to rib
                                        the soft places between on the back
until
                    there is bruising
                              and separation

Poem-A-Day #221 : Hands

Hands

Hands held
so tight
you can feel
the fine
bones
the tendons
in the finger

The roll
of those rope
like tendrils
that wrap
from muscle
to bone
to circuitry

They
make it go
you can feel
the steady
thump
of blood
in there

Hands
the thing
that opens
gates
closes them
it is a
permission
organ

Feel that
nimbleness
the fragility
of the nails
against nails
the crack
of knuckles

So tight
that you can
feel them
breaking
can imagine
them floating
off their arms

Poem-A-Day #16 : LV PM (OE)

LV PM (OE)

I want to lighthouse you

The ocean will do that beating against the shore thing it does and out there in the expanse some kind of octopus will wrap itself inside of an old soup can for shelter

Cream of mushroom most likely its always cream of mushroom

The tower isn't a metaphor for cock it isn't about sex not this time it's about illumination the kind with large letters drawn at the start of chapters the kind with doodles in the margins

I want to bedrock you

Put this down under foot that there is solidity in this and there is permanence and there is a big sky blowing up with clouds and wind

When the bomb of the sun hits the sky the darkness evaporates into rain

I spin in a circle my arm outreached the fingers are rays and everything they hit becomes highlighter and shadow they never burn out they are diligent in their touching