Under the threat of a double chin
And a new wardrobe
He negotiates the buffet like a fickle lover
An angel in his head
A devil in his belly
Demons rising up curvily through his nostrils
He balances upon a tightrope all the way to a pirate ship
And walks the plank spilling bits of sesame chicken and little white grains of rice over into the brine
.
.
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The earth yawns in caverns and caves
A mixture of sunlight and mist
Soft echoes bouncing off our souls
Fading into the music of the stars
.
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I trace borders to the edge of the earth
Atlas snaps them like a lasso
and tosses them across the sky
I drop sand through my fingers and let it
blow off the edge of the world
Atlas wipes his eyes
When I found an arrowhead my pure thought was on the earth from which it came and the generosity of it.
To give so freely from the past.
To let me stand upon it in the sun.
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I wrote when I was hungry
It was different than a famished visit to the grocery store
More demanding
More draining
To fill the basket of my mind
To ponder the madness of grocery store shopping hunger
To brace against the vibrations generated from the desperate voice of the hypocrite calling out—from the pit of my stomach
I wrote when I was hungry
They found each other
Like two opposing slices of a wound
Equally damaged
Naturally drawn to each other
It was as vulgar and as bloody
As it was necessary
And they grew into a beautiful scar
In time indistinguishable
Just like the day before
They found each other
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Something familiar
Strikes a pose on some mountain peak of your mind
With a walking stick in one hand and your senses in the other
If you could only read his lips
Through his frozen beard
He leaves you
brilliant
and sparkling
Hopeful as the crisp air that ushers in the harvest
He leaves you all that you needed
Your storehouse of memories unscathed
.
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She slept in waves
Stretching on to the shore
Falling rhythmically through a thousand tiny grains
Of the whitest sand
All the way to the center of gravity
Still she felt the moon pulling her back to consciousness
She raked her hands across a wet wolf’s back
She saw her face in a blackbird’s eyes
Then opened her own
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Every morning all things are new things
Under the sun
And all the knots
Have come undone
Every night all things are old things
Under the moon
And all the flags
Fall down too soon
But in the twilights and breaking of days
There are no steadfast rules
Shadows and tides rise and fall
While dukes and princes drool
Fortunes of sleep
Piled golden in our eyes
Dreamers and makers -Shaking hands
Their warm breath clouds in lies
In between
Where all things seem
And nothing comes to die
In between
The die is cast
Beneath the burning skies
.
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When I clean my ears I think of the crusty things in the curves of Raymond’s ears
the smell of his hungover breath
and his narcolepsy
I think I will see him laugh at me through the mirror
I know that wherever he is
He is not doing these things
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