CC Poem

waiting for the break to break
for the pressure that has
over time
amassed and disrupted the peripheral priorities
the restless ones
the ones where longing lingers
the ones that lead me
lie to me
tell me what I want to hear when I want to hear it – they are sweet nothings

the whispers wash over me in waves
they swirl and eddy
they push and pull and vie for attention
some undue
some worthy of

investment

attention

time

Kill Build

that’s when we scatter the ashes
and pull on the purse strings
in cinching it a little tighter
finished with a simple granny knot
things run their course, they always do

 

(just let it happen)

 

but there’s never any way to predict the outcome
it can only be coached along, coaxed along
molded when malleable and hardened when necessary

 

(let it happen)

 

the problem, or whatever it is
didn’t just happen, did it
the foundation of it was laid ages ago, wasn’t it
it just silts up after a while until
something must break

 

(it happens)

 

walls, will, and the will of man
all bunched up like a tense fist
you could cut it with a knife
but it probably wouldn’t help
it builds, though –
nonetheless
it builds until it’s palpable
taking on a certain dimension
a weight unto itself

 

(happens)

 

it builds until it spills
and it’s like the cascade can’t stop
and we all give in and watch it crumble
or better yet, watch it burn

Answerable

the call came
the call for words
letters forming words
words forming strings of meaning
meaning that has yet to be discovered

this is what happens
the indefinite asserts itself
a drifting of sorts without any intention
intending to, but not quite capable of execution
the intent or execution to make this the here and now

Sunday Suburbia

Tonight you fell asleep in my arms.

The rhythm of your breathing
from time to time
finding its synchronicity with mine.

The images of the two entwined
develop and devolve
under the flickering light of the screen opposite
a string of words and images flashing…flooding.

And in that, you under my arm sinking into the elusive oblivion
leading the way as that last bit of gin makes its way past my gullet.

Which Rich

sitting here waiting for the drugs to kick in
this means as much now as it always has
but the way is different, the substance of it
another sip to satisfy the simple need,
indeed

to fuel and be fueled, in ritual and ransom
forcing the darkness, as one does, behind
between the two windows, under the lamp
as the intended course of action gets
traction

April 11, 2009 – 20 Miles Off 101

this time of year you can hear clearly the rushing intent of the stream even though it can’t be seen

it cuts
every second it’s cutting, moving and cutting, zig-zagging, digging deeper as it goes, a perfect perpetuity

rippling cacophony
the sound of it becomes everything, negates everything, is as if unstoppable, its roaring way made

it swirls
instead of faltering, swells into haystacks defying its state, then calmly into eddies and calmly into pools

the canyon
it’s gnawed sits in gentle acceptance, almost embracing, always approaching but never encroaching

waiting to be washed away

Powers of Observation

not plain to the eye as far as you or I can see
but plainly free to be seen
by eyes keen of the hawk
across the field and up the
tree

perception has levels, we quickly conclude
proudly
and out of thin air
deducing

and upon the virtues of specialization
a tangent is unwittingly
embraced
and so forth into
the complexities
we only think we understand
but really don’t

his body bobs smoothly as the branch
of the tree waivers just so
on a breeze implied
but his gaze is fixed

we agree upon a rodent at first, then address specificity
surmising from the grass
dangling from a talon
a mouse

and that’s when, like a reflex, from the tree he dropped
a flash of wings and
his broad tail fanning
out

there was a moment when we were
both aware of
each other’s gasp &
the breath held as the suspense
played out

then back to the perch in a bound
settling in and smoothing feathers before
with three quick snips
consuming our
confirmation

Skin, Fat, Spice

the very essence
the connection between beings
the barrier and the welcoming touch

there is a rhythm
there is an association
there is a will & there is a way

this is an answer
this changes the questions
this gives as it takes away

a temptation
a tongue tip tap
a taste to be tackled

skin
fat
spice