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30 September 2011

Like my clock?

Digital tic of Time pass in silence.

Sound surfaces on creative whim
or clatters in descendent insanity.

Unspeaking electrons ever buzz into unlit obscurity
infusing numbered lights that count last to eternity,
but first to shrill bleats
waking to morning coffee,
or nothing.

This world expanse wrapped in stucco walls
it weighs and waits
rages to calm and back to rage
placates that blind guide
bares the fruit of the barren.

Until the dawn unlike another.
New comes to creep.
A scarcity of grey brews crimson red or amber brown,
you crest a rounded line
and rounded self,
blind the already bemused.

Smell like tincture wraiths cloy a curry tint,
wrap and warp my milquetoast memory and
backward fade to vibrant Dream.

Taste buds - hills on mouthy Mars -
rouse and breathe blue.
Seen silk will find scratch of common cloth,
like augury, atmospheric gender set opposite a thickset thumb.

Look up,
ubiquitous ceilinged cellophane,
Poke and Prod,
Sound will surely surface.

23 September 2011

Don't be hatin'

August and September air
is blast heat to chill promise.
The outside year fades and
I feel the tug of hot cocoa,
the at-hand switch to thick sweater.
A layer of Winter fat will soon pad
but not now. The Summer swimsuit reigns.
I inhale only imagined change.

Today, leaves yet live green
and park tables still fill at noon.
But how the haze hangs in the air,
the cool hint of bite in a breath,
discomfited lungs insinuating a
precipitous fall of molecules
delving to unexplored reaches.
No longer the hot air loft,
the far-gazing heights -
a heft in my chest is missing -
and the absence
is sweet and solid promise
of holiday trinity.

09 September 2011

Another Friday Another Poem

Cement Wall
sand and lime
water, time
formed, framed, with forethought, purpose
chipped or stained, barren-surfaced
hemming in and holding out
sections cross America
dreams directing, contained, deflecting
Cement Wall

02 September 2011

Hey, a Big Poem Friday poem actually on Friday

I killed a feral dog.

Dog I knew.
Dog I loved.

I killed him from atop my back porch.
Slouched and secret,
stooped on that steady redwood beam,
I lifted sight and trigger pulled.

The redwood rail, newly stained
proffered fixed foundation to my elbow,
steadied barrel and black hole end,
last image burned upon his retina.

My delivered touch of metal slug
pierced flesh and severed life
ceasing what surge there was of disease
what verities of thought, touch, or feel remained.
Rabid sound and shout, growl and whine,
gone like Autumn in August.