The woman crying on the street
pressed her hands together as if to cling
to the early March air,
squared her shoulders and put her leather pumps back on.
I wanted to run after her, shoelaces and tangled hair flailing,
grab her smooth hand and
ask her where she was going
and if I could follow.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
March Moon
Tonight I found myself
tangled in moonlight, spring moonlight-
(the air is still cold but
the sky seems closer, the way it does in July).
I wrote you a letter in the darkness of the sky,
folded it around myself, a quilt of starry cotton
and closed my eyes.
tangled in moonlight, spring moonlight-
(the air is still cold but
the sky seems closer, the way it does in July).
I wrote you a letter in the darkness of the sky,
folded it around myself, a quilt of starry cotton
and closed my eyes.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Charlotte's Trap
The air is full of
young spiders, their threads tied to the wind,
legs scrambling for a hold on the breezy sun.
Watch your head, they are desperate and
I want you for myself.
young spiders, their threads tied to the wind,
legs scrambling for a hold on the breezy sun.
Watch your head, they are desperate and
I want you for myself.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
dogs
The dogs of my childhood
are growing old.
They lounge on theraputic beds,
their ragged tongues waving.
The dogs of my childhood
spend their days under trees
and in garages and stretched on kitchen floors,
their arthritic limbs twitching
in memories of the teddy bears they tore,
their noses quivering with steaks stolen
right off the grill.
The dogs of my childhood
are lifted laboriously onto their feet
and drag their bent backs around the block,
The dogs of my childhood are grey at the noses,
their breath fetid,
The dogs of my childhood
show smiles of rotted teeth, drool dribbles
onto their smelly beds,
The dogs of my childhood
sleep noisily,
exhaling great sighs
into the night.
are growing old.
They lounge on theraputic beds,
their ragged tongues waving.
The dogs of my childhood
spend their days under trees
and in garages and stretched on kitchen floors,
their arthritic limbs twitching
in memories of the teddy bears they tore,
their noses quivering with steaks stolen
right off the grill.
The dogs of my childhood
are lifted laboriously onto their feet
and drag their bent backs around the block,
The dogs of my childhood are grey at the noses,
their breath fetid,
The dogs of my childhood
show smiles of rotted teeth, drool dribbles
onto their smelly beds,
The dogs of my childhood
sleep noisily,
exhaling great sighs
into the night.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
New Subject Matter (from the margin of my english notes)
Pick up the shell,
curled like a baby's ear
and deep purple within.
I want you to continue now,
down the beach,
I want you to
feel the airborne salt on your face,
to see the wind,
to hear the slow sink
into twilight.
curled like a baby's ear
and deep purple within.
I want you to continue now,
down the beach,
I want you to
feel the airborne salt on your face,
to see the wind,
to hear the slow sink
into twilight.
Monday, March 3, 2008
don't you dare close your eyes
Will you come with me?
The sandy streets are ready for us.
The other night I woke and stared,
all I could see was silence.
The open sky is ours,
put on your sunglasses and we will
run barefoot along the yellow lines,
we wont make a sound and we won’t stop
until we reach the edge.
The sandy streets are ready for us.
The other night I woke and stared,
all I could see was silence.
The open sky is ours,
put on your sunglasses and we will
run barefoot along the yellow lines,
we wont make a sound and we won’t stop
until we reach the edge.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
