Archive for May, 2013

WeeBox

cell phone zombies
thumb down the lilaced street
without inhaling

forget-me-nots plead
in out of focus oceans
but the undead memory tics back
to buzz and tone

oh glaz’ed goods,

you have acquired piles
such as an ointment will not cure
and how those qwerty rows
line up your face

you need a soak.

where is your grassy nest
of  little rabbits?

where is the spring in your step?

life

every morning
I wake up
me

morsel

take up this poem
break it and let it nourish
as we search for more

in these small hours

half opened flower
this frost will bend you only
as beauty allows

Lost

Ponder the fisher
the earnest fisher on the main alone
worn at the helm
forlorn and weeping
trailing unshipped oars

She holds The Sea Book
but her eyes are not the color of the sea.
there is no prize.
a frayed line flies and tells
in the sifting breeze

The great spent wish,
barb set  in bony head,
drifts back to its unblinking
small fry dream

Vernacularation (not on accident)

The fire’s back going again.
Chilly up the hollow.
Dandelions ain’t even out  in the hills.
Dubya tee eff.
Even still it’s not bad.
I got burnt in the sun it was so hot yesterday.
May you know.
Keep the blackflies down.

May 7

Wood fire, lit in October, is out.