Monthly Archives: May 2012

Of Not Having

Someone left a scarf on the floor of a forest

at the end of May. Someone left a blanket

under a tree, hoping. Some bird will pass,

probably, through the rib of pine. I imagine


a heart kept warm, regardless. Of not having,

someone wandered. Of not wanting, someone

gathered all her strength and screamed.

For what it’s worth I heard you, followed


strings and knots through until

I found you. Soiled but weightless,

now the song can begin. Now is does,

did. You tell them I am here.



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This is how you will change the world–

water your plant in the morning

though it hasn’t rained in your body

since last November– your hands burn

themselves into seeds. Take care of the dirt.

Call your heart the greatest lover since June.

Open doors of a monastery. Let anyone

in. Changing is simple. Speak to the world–

a baby does not know herself

as a being. Carry sticks. Each fall,

tell the heart it will be different

this time. Winter and our bones will still

be bones. But loved. Light-surrounded.

Darkness cloaks so we can see her

spring across the field, though we know

she’s dying, we hope for what is good.

A burial brings water to the plant–

twisting baby underneath an oak.

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“The safe-house is not” Series

Then a slit through midnight

Across collar-bone-wide


Doe-scrapes of red cloth

teeth meeting beyond


meaningless things

legs spread for snakes


What we anticipate


The crossing-into

the being-needed.


The being needed to cross

a wide canyon Only darkness


known since birth

birth removed ancient


sac broke into Anxious

ever since Time started


her heart red beetle-tick.




One who is sick sprints

toward the split


with knives ready as a mother


To heave away what ails

the mind but what is one


to cut away The anxious

the bleating goat throat


exposed Thoughts darken

the ground What is one


sliver of steal against ice caps




Sacrificed mind-goat

instead of her arm

red lines are still red


Converse with the hurt-bridge

construct full sentences


Don’t rip a dress or do


because you can Enter what ails


as a herd enters a round-pin

belly full before the blood-let.




Then the through-with animal

raised herself braided sweat


around her choke-hold hole

where we came come and must


enter again The last fucked

midnight It begins




Broke open in a kitchen

the chicken’s soul met its meat


it had to understand What use

have I ever been No useless


chicken Neck stretched

into its meaningless


mother’s mouth again


Bosnia breast-fed her broken

children to death In Texas


one eats a meal before being

light-carried home.




Or not The girl refuses

to eat Fuel her emptiness


with sex The men hunt

deer ready for her Now


the blood scent is gone

they want holes


to bury their boys She’s willing




Or not Sometimes she’s not

ready for the god


in her The woman carries

knives sacrifices her mind


to beautify earth then destroy




The swarmed tribe told the sky


Open It didn’t


The saw prayed No against

The smallest child’s collar-bone




The meaningless happened then


turned in on itself kaleidoscope

of color until snakes tails in mouth


made themselves mean something




Again dressed Again woman

Once child Now taken in

To a room for money Pain


an energy has to go somewhere




The safe-house is not


safe The mesquite hides

tobacco crazed goats


The mind having nowhere to go

invents but forgets.

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One Day We Will Want to Be Here

We were born clutching this thing, a feather in the river

And now we wander looking for the other, a wing

under a rock, maybe, in someone’s hair, or belly:

wild scream, ancient whisper. Under a wood pile,

in the middle of the country stands a man, alone

for thirteen years, keeping to himself a secret

well. The livestock know his mind. Each morning

it breaks over wheat, like a sun with its eyes closed,

carrying wood from the river, bits of moss, a heart

without an anchor. It says, Can’t stay here. In the middle,

everything spells out twisted heart, joy, at once. We are

born with him in his rib as fish, swimming upstream,

toward him, a mind the simplest middle-county stone

knows, There-is-Nowhere-to-Go-For-Safety.

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Imagine, a bartender lonely.

How can you stand so many people

Laughing, drunk. Shirts dirty

Themselves for the washing, waiting

For a woman’s hands. I’d steal

Their laughter, pawn it for a handgun

Just to piss someone off. I’d drink

Myself into mystical states, I’d get sick

On her doorstep for just a glass

of water.  I’d do this for anyone

Who ever loved my sorry ass.

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