Nimbose

Nimbose 12/31

And those blank eyes. The

implications ominous.

My head fills, empties.

Beclouded

Beclouded 12/30

My mind is cotton

A most nubiferous quar-

-ter. My eyes are blank.

Mizzling

Mizzling 12/29

All coats and wool and

huddled eyes in scarves. It breaks

across the mountain.

Climate

Climate 12/28

Trees in the cool wind.

Snow is cottonwood quiet.

Breath buried in sky.

It's raining in Pennsylvania.

I am ready for 2012.

Southern Lights

Southern Lights 12/27

Maoris saw the

lights, weaving bands of colors.

Imagined distress.

Boxing Day

Boxing Day 12/26

It’s a must – a sealed universe

In the back of the shed – marked toys

Instant 1992 – a smell of California

Chrstimas Box

Christmas Box 12/25

Look into the branches and see those little star-points

they glitter – they are roses on the mantle and food in

our bellies

We can break this day open like piñata – the contents

pouring over the parquet like thick gravy – this second

will become a shimmer in our memories

A ball to place on a high branch at Christmastime we

will take it our examine it and put it away careful like

under it will be our treasure

Reflections will splinter the room into what is beautiful

and what is more beautiful – your face – mine – the

sound of snow on snow

These little twinkles hold our souls – they cover this

greenery and wrap us in some kind of warm – why

it is forgotten is anyone’s guess

Christmas Tree

Christmas Tree 12/24

They’re pretty – sometimes – they aren’t even Christian originally

As far as arguments go it’s mainly down to falling needles – the smell of pine

I don’t bother to put one up – I go home and look at my parents’

Stutter

This poem was written for my friend Paul Armijo.

Stutter 12/23

What taste on your tongue

The air dry and cracking – a zoo of thoughts begins

Colors too bright for the morning – it all feels like clowns

The crumbling adobe makes faces worse then clowns

The sky is purple

The taste stuck

On Brooklyn Bridge

On Brooklyn Bridge 12/22

Until you reach the mid-point do not turn

It is the hanging gardens of Babylon

It is the voice of God – your heart may rupture – will

The blur of wrought iron is cooling

Until you can take this coldness stay at home

Bring a parka and a bagged lunch

You can hear the cars - foreign tongues

The sound of smiles freezing on film

The gulls never know where to land

Fly Poem

This poem was written from found lines while I was in Auvillar, France in 2009

Fly Poem 12/21

The indescribable feeling of blankets – in your throat

Tin on the back of your tongue

Having your head poetically lopped – Emily likely

would have volunteered – With a seashell? The old garden shears?

They released spinal fluid, I should collect it in hollowed gourds

It is metallic and running – mercurial – gutter sounds in city streets

I have that looping old world melting feel – the kind east coast US cities have

accidentally – that oozing ironwork – the layered buildings capping eras – a stopgap – a murdered superstar

Why do the dying always smell roses – heavy flowers – speak in scaled riddles :

“Stop, breathe, listen…there’s a peacock at my feet…

the leaves of Juillet are thick, waxy – they feel like leather…

a Societe of Pigeons makes it difficult to move without notice…

today is the jours de wheels on cobblestone...

            What I’m trying to say is indescribable, what I have to say is so important”

Windows Fail

And Then The Windows Failed - And Then (After Emily Dickinson) 12/20

And then the Windows failed            – and then

oceans of bees – across the threshold come –

The eyes a whirled, reaching compress – cold –

A cascade of Rooms – A futile Tapestry

The sudden mind – static – thousand-eyed glasses

swirl – marble – A tree of elongated hands –

There – is the Lock-box Chain – and

a slam-break – weeping Skin, demanding more –

A Suit of man – shattered un-holding arms –

Interior child, fitting in a Storm – and then

the cool Palm of Rest – and then

the Windows failed – and then – buzzing then –

Apocalypse #5

Apocalypse #5 12/19

He hands me dried raspberries that have been soaked in alcohol, I mistake them for goji

Cupboards open, swollen faded hot red fruit cascade against cobalt Spanish tile

A lemon top-heavy cloud shifts from one end of the sky to a spot above Nevada

The beehive-shaped fruit goes on the tongue, tastes like dipped cordial oranges

He waves his hands in the air violently screaming about a trip to the bank that went awry

The sun reaches that point where it bursts through the door hysterical about the end times

He tells me the fruit is neither raspberry nor goji, laughs, breaks a curtain rod on an anvil

I question the anvil about the Kyoto Protocols and ask the not-raspberries for some scotch

Somewhere over Nevada it begins to rain sugar

Snowball

Snowball 12/18

Ice on wool on hands – pushing round and forming

Pressing tightly – just to sting

Toss into the expanse and wait for impact

Winter Pennsylvania 2006

Haiku will return in the new year.

Promise.

For reals.

Winter Pennsylvania 2006 12/17

Heated air

Lungs become a desert

Sheets full of sand

Dunes beneath the small of the back

Patchwork of itching lines

Cracking roads of skin

Naturally thoughts

Move to wars in desert countries

Smoke threading into sky

The violence of skies

How they never end

Keep pressing down in blankets

Fingers always tipping the edges –

Autochthon

Autochthon 12/16

The earth liquids and

waves of black soil tsunami

Live birth. Blood, hands, feet.

Haiku

Haiku 12/15

In the Taos thrift store

dishes are half price. That wolf

fur coat is two grand.

Haiku

Haiku 12/14

I need to know for

a planned gift that may not be

ready until spring.

Sexy Haiku

Haiku 12/13

Coco draped the pearls

across her naked breasts, her

nipples were diamonds.

Haiku

Haiku 12/12

The small white berries

taste of paper and honey.

Are ghosts around fire.

Haiku

Haiku 12/11

Magpie hangs upside-

down, green-black white from the pine.

We both watch for dogs.

Word Mark

I know...this is also not a haiku.


Word Mark 12/10

I would type on the Underwood

Would smudge the ink – press my fingers

together they felt like chalk like graphite

The lines of skin would highlight themselves

Here a life – line of the fact of having worked

The black under my nails was deep

I felt a connection with squid

The fingerprint in the corner of the page

another melting geometry

Like that Underwood – gone reliquary

Tabloidesque

Tabloid-esque 12/9

Over the hills come

Royals and their hunting dogs

Actors in fox suits.

Round-The-World

I know it's meant to be haiku month, but this happened.

Round-The-World 12/8

I.

In the grocery store

in Taos

There is a Cristmas Tree

it is the middle of November

and the turkeys haven’t even sold yet

A stack of Terry’s chocolate orange

in dark and milk varieties

I take one home

crack it against the floor

and eat the core first

II.

We’re living with a big sky

Lidless blue orb of forgetting

I have lost so many selves…

Honey,

What was the question ?

III.

Remember that magnolia tree in Georgia

that willed with waxy cream blossoms

every spring ?

In that house we planted pumpkins

and had a pet lizard caught in the roses

out front

We named him Mister Nobody

and buried him at the foot of the yard

with all of the goldfish

IV.

The limb

of the pine tree

was shaped just so

that if you leap

it would launch you

into the air

through the limbs

to the field below

You spread your arms

look all figurehead-y

and close your eyes

then step to the edge

of the building

This does not equal that

V.

That one of these thing happened in Georgia and another in New Mexico and then the last one in England or New York matters only to me

Sturgeon's Law

Sturgeon's Law 12/7

90% of

everything is crap, is shite

is stuff to grow in.

Quisby

Quisby 12/6

The kid cut his hair

But has not pulled up his pants

Some hair still displayed.

Economize

Economize 12/5

I’m trying small things

The color of Magpie wings

Let me be clear – Awe.

Roast Beef

December is haiku month!

I am on my way back to the east coast after three months in New Mexico. I will have TV and internet and my cat back.

I've always associated haiku with wisdom. With change and the seasons.

So I wrote one about Arby's.

Roast Beef 12/4

Arby’s sauce kicks ass

Curly fries – Beef – Amazeballs

This is why we’re fat.

Saturdaying

Saturdaying 12/3

You will wait

for three days

in this place

without complaint.

Then if there are

any of them left

you will get

your American jeans.

Cotch

Cotch 12/2

How many months could I make it

hidden – in the mountains of New Mexico

Where are the legs of Father Time ?

I have a tire iron – wish to hobble everyone

who has a clock

Here is a space

where my arms wrap around myself

as if they always could

A space where the conversation

in my head – is rich and fine-tuned to hum

When does the gear break the block

placed in the wheels of the sun chariot

Forcibly making dawn of my night – breaking

my attempt at vanishing without dying

Ointer

Ointer 12/1

After the bacon

            into the aluminum can

with the peeling label – that is unreadable

is as old as I can remember

Pour the grease and wait for it to whiten

Like Holy Communion you will dip you fingers

and drop the contents into the mouth of the pan

Your skin will shine with fat

plasticized like Jesus on the cross

above your bed – like the angel on the tree

at Christmas

The room will smell like food

Grandma you will be standing – your back to us

A ghost of what was done in this place