by the colacolored waves
whispering their swaying sounds
sun this sunday early lays
’pon its waterbed o’ clouds
blanketing these cooing gales
mintsweet firs to kill the chills
counting ships those reekcreep snails
sail its walls o’ frosty hills
days descend like paper sheets
yellowing synced with leaves whose trees
shiver black with tea & seas
on a cloudy august weekend
sunlight breaking thru the clouds
shining on the golden leaves
proclaiming the coming o’ autumn
fall the goldsoft resin treasures
crispbrown jalapeño chips
palm o’ palmates blushing gestures
roughhewn arms flick wrists in wind
cloudridden icarus my sun
casting lines to warmcool lakes
under gusts from sparrows’ lungs
sleeping ’way the shrinking days
wake from drunken summers sober
finding helios’ reign’s over
leave streets red for black october
The hummingbird said to me that day,
<Just whistle & I will fly you ’way>;
but I couldn’t whistle,
but only make pathetic puffy-lip spurts,
& so it left me to be devoured by vultures.
but I didn’t color within the lines.
If I weren’t so afraid o’ hidden poop
I’d roll round in the grass all afternoon.
So cozy is the evening o’ the year;
but the new year…
it’s opening blinds to blinding light
& yanking all the blankets off me…
¿Why?
The grandest meal that lasts is that last supper
cooked warm on death row.
But now
I’m leased to nothing but the clear-skied breeze.
& the’ain’t e’en any leaves.
But wind…
Ich möchte dich festhalten —
weicher Atem, schlagendes Herz;
während ich in dein Ohr flüstere,
ich will dich verdammt auseinander reißen.
You gorgeous gothic autumn withered firs
put on the perfect play for these uneasy zephyrs
round this o’ercrowded theater I attend.
Marvel as I push past
too many poems for this tired eye to render —
crowd maple feathers with their rockin’ letters
crying for ’ttention on these building signs &
uncomfortable cars, their neck-ache news screws tightened —
akin to pallored skin on fretting lightning —
a swoonful, sure, but omens ill inviting
as the smoke spread by my unspoken words
creep up to kill the sky without a thought.
Too much abundent love will smother us
with floods o’ sun. But I don’t dare stop —
( Note: due to internet outages, this poem comes 1 week after the event ).
Sunday morn in peace ~
lone, pieces fall together.
February snow.
Sunday day in pieces ~
e’en the tree I’ve known fore’er
falls dead.
Not so silly anymo’ ~
a fir’s yellow scarf.
Me dejaste aquí como un contorno de tiza
en la acera esperar para la lluvia lavarse, lavarse.
Sigues volviendo al lugar del crimen,
pero los muertos no pueda hablar y no queda nada decir, de todos modos.
Those were the words I heard in summer 2012,
when 1st I learned that no foundation keeps its build;
higher than 5 years following, you remind me
the prophesy forgotten fell fulfilled.
Lemon drops on milky clouds
bound this wistful field above
pewter lakes — ¡but wait! ¡Look now!
¿How’d this specter enter such
verdant film now ill, when it
wasn’t there before. Before I
eat my harvest, fix on this
ray of sunlight staged for sore eyes.
Superstitions won’t sway trees;
what a day to buy tea leaves —
October Friday 13.
