tender-cheeked girl consumes her own offering

there's a living fairy in the country

blipping out of peace

but in town

the applause is deafening

in their madness
  she wept,

in the rockness of pleasantries,

pools

       into its cobbled hands.

dried them up, saying

feed me.

I cannot drop

myth over this poem.

         to color it with history,

       I can only ask questions

        for the umpteenth time.

why

has god

forsaken

me

?

sunken, in pool

and airing out ,

     Coin.


  

Black-Out

I remember wishing that night
that I couldn't remember
that I could walk
through the black-out.

But if I'm bound to keep my mind
as your hand in mine
I prayed not to have
to keep from slipping
and we'd just be pals
together gripping
our slanting world.

Lolita 1

He said
the savior laid down at the end of the street here.
I asked him
who the savior was and
he left.

Then he stood over me here
and said
That's my chair.
I didn't say anything to him
or look at him
and he tried to pick me up

So I laid down at the end of the street here.

Nurturers

wise sister beat the meat
so mother could suckle babes

swift
in purpose and promise of readied meals

she followed snake's vertebrae 

tender as ghost

and this our host 

baked into thunder rolls

stricken-ed she says 

that snake out on the counter

was beaten and cold

aware of everything 

around her.

and they came then

-- licking up the salt --

all those squirmy peaches

with their tongues perched 

to dissolve 

behind sister's knees with pleads 

while mother has upon her chest

pinned to the sofa's arm

two like fly to paper

warm and busy

scales drift off the counter

flutter-wobble 

to the young

to the flexors beneath

tugging at the tail and 

gristle in their teeth

tethered there to sister

twitch 

 with teasing agony

every clobby thud 

serenading their

tiny peachy ears

but their little peaching wails

carry not to the one 

up on the counter

who flakes now

swollen now

exposed

she's gone                        

and feeding herself now, 

 on her maker's

salty toes

idol

grazing ,    I 

met with yeshua

 met with yeshua, rich

in dusty leather

and full mouth

I met with yeshua on 

oil sands

and wilting grasses 

I met with yeshua and he told me 

nothing

and I was glad

,    for 

nothing does not lie 

and I 

still linger like seaweed and heather

on the tongue when breathed

and! 

my beloved survived

that breath

safely,

between harp

strings.

On putting to sleep

stolen wet glimpse
stoned as quiver his
readied, rendered
berried, aim, lips

hinting touch sequence
berried, aim, lips

fasten sinking blips
such small turbulence
took his glimpse
whirling glimpse
sole expense

the way the front of my memory
and the back of my realization
                                    kiss
is wet,
 like a slow jelly
and ripples with no break
in its gloss

and color
there is more
friendly and vibrant
as sound and time slow to
a stroll, a coo-ing
             a silence

Takemitsu searched
for the sound worthy
to confront silence
and I think it might be
a baby's cry,
though I have never
heard avalanches,
have I?

And I wonder where,
in this pleasant wetness,
permeates the well
of sorrow and grief and
longing and

    have we wanted a what to want
    or a some special thing?


 washing
   whisper
                                  cries
                              carolling
               calm
              weight
                       

      humm   a-ways   aloft
   

awake.

New Mexico

Primordial purity 

a just beacon

hoping to hook on 

fevered battle.

one-eyed dog 

cheers meaning

out of Crimean 

embassies 

Library retch, 

fastidious ties bled 

shapes

before the spectral. 

Gasping body entire 

wither 

with leafing prism

this language. 

Remove my eye dark,

gaping.  

Entrain wood grove 

and tree ring 

to your holy 

mountain viewing

pleasure. 

Enchanted corpses

drag rotted feet, 

tread putrescence

in dewey wake

in silver cobbed shadow

foreground of maiden sky, 

hovering. 

Is this haunt or hollowed bless? 

Gorge.

                                 Church.

Cleansing with every shadow,

baptismal sun wading belief.

Land empathy 

hydrate involved intermediaries

Green rush, green rush lost gush

Hilly ridge, starry back bone. 

Blessed syllables middle 

these convictions

down the Rio Grande

to loving impasse 

and bridge of emergence.

Scramble next over rail. 

Black sensitive blossom rest

where Jesus killed himself too.

Scare and smash and skull

 in solidarity opens 

between the goated ghost of 

far banks and warmed 

green water lines. Pools. 

Who wouldn't, of all the places, 

groove their existence along this crack

shatter and spill, here. 

Here, of incessant irrevocable reverence. 

Here, where certain objects predetermine 

their ghosts. 

Here, where Emmanuel prays to God to Gorge 

for a better headache.