Monday, March 29, 2010

oblong envelopes stack themselves high

oblong envelopes stack themselves high
on surfaces all around,
none of them square,

figures within, helvetica and bold,
politely penned,

shark tooth sharp;
if we pass,
we can bear down fast and hard.

not so the ones from abroad
or towns only a few miles
to the north,

which rarely come; flimsy and frail;
shy sentiments sport pale pastel

is it the licking that has this effect
or that they are so rare? plus, those do not
stack so well.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

the flames in your bones

the flames in your bones
are intense. subside when doused
with a potion or something else.

reignite, without fail; monotone drone;
a split second after dawn or following
a sort of wood-wind reveille,

at any time— even if not blown
shrill at all; all consuming
boorish breeder of charred remains.

it's plain matter of circumstance

it's plain matter of circumstance
and acquired powers
of persuasion—

beware, my love,

for all, someday,
may be made to say:
five's the sum of two pair;

regardless of color of eyes
or persistence of
lingering conscience,

given a form of stress,
a Rubashov or otherwise,
shall each have to finger a Julia.

Friday, March 26, 2010

... math is known

... math is known
to be good


one adds one
or else
subtracts another

as well


or even squares

when found
to be

or forced

by convention
or some other
form of order


sums or averages
all before one
is done

as such ...

Thursday, March 25, 2010

you run the ward as lab

you run the ward as lab,
conjure means to juice basalt;
liquefy solid granite.

don't act surprised
when dust clouds

and while you're at it,
sea salt forgotten wounds,
for good measure, i suppose.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

and how do they become

and how do they become

diminishing regard
for fact, deride the evident,
and peddle another form of wisdom,

forcefully at that.

barely able, yet stride aloft
atop modern hill;

build scaffolds of straw
for pyramid?

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

walls are crystal clear

walls are crystal clear,
land perfectly flat
and square.

kittens Guineveres, the female ones,
but every Tom, not quite

some bring to mind Méléagant,
others simply do not
do that.

notwithstanding venue or visionary plot,
always based on temperament,
and what not;

even still diamond glare may render one blind;
addle the flow of staunchest vein—
fluttered heart.

intone buoyant melody of interior song

intone buoyant melody of interior song—
render me languid and cloy and worn;

the wind rustles pea pods gently grown
their delicate clatter rattles forth and on

from over the horizon as just one thought
or even another one is formed.

this, in my private alphabet or hers alone;
in a zephyr's gust a woodwind whir,

with a soupçon of purr in now familiar tone,
sings to me, my caroler, in modern form.

Monday, March 22, 2010

oh no, love, you have it wrong

oh no, love, you have it wrong,
i'm no Keyser Söze,
neither am i a contortionist
with Cirque du Soleil,

far from it, my life is plain
as a pikestaff—
no butler, no driver,
not even henchman,

and further, the only staff i have
is a part time gardener.
my main role is of Father;
while the other, some sort of Mother.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

and if you were to, now

and if you were to, now,

what should i do but belly-crawl
into a damp, dark trench
and long

to become but hard slag
or black coal,

should i simply pretend to ignite,
faux-hiss and fuss— sputter or spout?

and yet, all that i likely might
is grow ever so somber and quiet,
slate-gray and ice-cold—
that's all.

oh dearest, i beg you, please,
kindly, do not.

as for me,
never would i forget you— not now,
above all that i have come to grasp
this propinquity of ours,


Friday, March 19, 2010

and what if

and what if
those yet to come
are confined to encores

played in dissonant keys
as somewhat minor variants

of this and ones
which already

Thursday, March 18, 2010

should you by chance

should you by chance
find your way

to my gate

my love

and find
my house
to be dark

that i too
am out


your vestibule
and wondering.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

not this one

not this one
my love—

possibly the next,
if we stop

at all, given
the parallels

we are

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

this is the moment

this is the moment
of the wiser;

malcontents hover (spout
and steam and spill over);

that's what they do
as they have done

from the start,
no matter who or why

or where or whatever else
may be wrong,

even when not—
for no discernible reason at all;

regardless of a newborn—
tiger, or rabbit, or dragon;

even still, by the time
snake has come.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

every order is taller

every order is taller
than the other

doubt reigns supreme—
casts a familiar
mechanical din;

and clangs along ancient tracks,
headed nowhere for certain;


and trails

is marred by grays.

Friday, March 12, 2010


a fluke is a fish—
sometimes my dear. and flounder,
we certainly will.

byte freak. did you think

byte freak. did you think
you could code your way

out of each mess with a simple flip
of a string; bits, lazily compressed;

then traverse and skip limb over limb,
long, slender branches,
heavily laden—

precariously bent
and ready to snap,

forever? statistically impossible—
you should have known

Thursday, March 11, 2010


from her core

his tired wings—

him to soar once

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

here's our plan for the summer

here's our plan for the summer;

oh shit,

it's not even Spring yet!
here's a rain check,

take it,

return at the end of May—
maybe by then
it shall be clearer.

Monday, March 8, 2010

should i patter in endless circles

should i patter in endless circles,
as dizzy as i may get,

would time revert
and the faint sound
of your breathing


next to my heart?

would i feel
your warm breath's

against my neck?

darling, i miss
the purl of your voice, its tenor
in my mind—

i hear it,

but it has grown distant
and faint.

although you seem out of reach
i know this is not so.

call me, my love—

the greens, the reds

the greens, the reds
and the ambers are common,
they are well understood;

circles substitute, otherwise snarl—
at critical times grind to a halt;

the blues used to be so rare, although
sonorous hums always release despair,
one bar at a time.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

the ones

the ones
with oversized throats
are more

in every respect. danger will lurk,

hearts will flutter double-time.
when glory is at hand when we've run,

even defeat will be deemed victory,
especially when we cross the line
for the first time—

today or even tomorrow.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

honey, you've heard it

honey, you've heard it
before; my bruised eyes
are as apricots and sore;

how am i to dream of you
when sleep is less prevalent today?

remember, sustained rains
are rare events in the Mojave;

and what's more, my love—

although it's known as Death Valley,
it's more depression than corridor.

what's a fist-full of code

what's a fist-full of code
worth? binary i mean—

ones and zeros, strung
as orderly trains
or shimmering beads,

a bit



and brass rings


my pit-perfect

Eva Rivas - Apricot Stone

my pit-perfect,
golden delight,

smoothest cheeks,

when prepared
you are known
to blush--

bright red,
rosy-ripe, sweet
and tart.

softer to touch
than a plump

orchard grown; tawny port
and cedar. candied fruit
and nutmeg

and ancestral;

palm-warmed brandy
for my forlorn

sent; heavenly

Friday, March 5, 2010



my love—

and tall

as Kauai

emerald pools,

and bubble
and cool;


to distant shores;


convenience and all that

ATM's for cash;
a scant few use envelopes
while others get stamps.

on top of it all

on top of it all
weeds are out of control.

on the other hand
a mower and a whacker

require a bank roll--
some less, some a lot

Thursday, March 4, 2010

infinite splendor

infinite splendor
is expressed

with interwoven strands
of monad and naught

given capable hands
and delicate thought.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

the scene

the scene
in eastern highlands
is as follows:

elevated plateaus hold up grand mountains.

they are sliced along their entire length
as if from sternum
to pubic bone;

a depression is formed
much like a sunken corridor; within it pools
have become lakes,

which are occasionally covered
with teaming plumage,

pure white,
bright reds, pink and salmon;
sometimes they shimmer silver or golden;

interconnected by veins
whose flows are meager but rage
during torrential rains

as they arrive
from western shores of the Indian subcontinent;
there, weather is created by the Himalayan range;

monsoons strike fierce blows
as they arrive and make landfall,
yet life there is dependent on them.

it has been
for as long as memory is able to be unwound
in records left behind here and there,

scattered about for us to gather—
to ponder and to attempt
to understand.

Tridi, one three Ventôse CCXVIII

today, Tridi,

i hear you

in the wind;
in the air

my love--

you are
near me;

as if
you are
with me

my dear.

first drops

first drops
form, later-on

rivulets stream along;
throughout inaugural miles—
cascade and fall;

frowns fashion savory
sighs— lips impart
reticent smiles.

froth bubbles
milk-white— merrily
babbles along;

newly formed—

at the surface
of clearest pond

and are gone.

to call a pear

to call

a pear fruit
and to go on,

in some circles
is considered
poor form.

at a gabfest, for instance,
tractate is mandate.

even if
the subject
of debate

is the seed
of one

savory pome.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

hands clasped vise tight

hands clasped vise tight,
knees bent, muscles

an arm entwines with an arm
shoelace style. tugs firm
at the hips while a dance starts

where necks extend, chins
thrust forward; from parted lips
smiles slip ahead;

cutlass and chisel ride--
a glide, a slide,
a hover;

at the very edge of reason
animal instinct
takes over.

we walk

we walk,
in the midst
of a foreign concourse;

deep in the bowels
of hive
and home;

of course,

soldiers are sent
to greet us;
spurious welcomes
treat us;


the rest,

as you might have guessed
is as fiendish
as a hornet

when cornered—

by handlers
who are ill

Monday, March 1, 2010

i wish

i wish
you would say

my love

is a day
which calls for

prematurely vernal

to Santa Rosa's

they serenade

i long
to hear
your cloying

history simply is, even before it gets told

history simply is, even before it gets told,
way before it is written on paper or chiseled in stone;
twirled into lore. we know this,
so do midgets with well groomed lips—

(uniforms starched and pressed flat
before they are worn; in crowded spaces or
on occasions designed to impress; costumes are designed
with a particular purpose. that is
the meaning of design, after all);

yet as Horace says: "A comic subject is not susceptible
of treatment in a tragic style,
and similarly the banquet of Thyestes
cannot be fitly described
in the strains of everyday life ..."

an unfortunate fact
is that one cannot readily tell for certain
what was, as opposed to what is
merely contrived;
the nature of interpretation; re-telling;
one uses intuition and gut instinct

for patterns—
they are present, they emerge
when plotted over space and time—

made apparent,
because they are there.

perturbations are dots attached by dashes—
etched and crisscrossed. (a child's regard for a pal is outstanding;
irrespective of creed or social standing—
admirable); one would think

adults would take note;
conversely illegitimacy is a despicable metaphor—
crude, rude and what's more, a notion better to abhor

by the respectable;
historians and students of social science
etcetera, etcetera.