Cello (Formula Poem)

The strings of weave, final and emerging--

crane-coiling-- (^

I know your music;

I feature the shut it disperses to meet.

Me to shape with paper twisted,

tension in sleep;

Me to see yet free, and I swear silken--

breath I roll plain to strain door locks.

I note fingers in the memory;

I name strings

as I and anonymous meet.

I am side-followed, a draw that's easing.

I, the familiar scent of apart;

I reach for tendons and body-- 

so hear delusion dimensions

and my shoulders close.

Know I am

when our sheets tighten--

we became your outer and quickly learned air

            carried between creases and folds.

You a heat I discern as striving,

and where blossoms focus I wander

as a one-and-convinced forget,

until we stand near to plains--

                                      
                                          entrance doors. 

This natural 

                      standing between,

                                                    that inner between us

and what lingers where I can't descend--

my too-present vibrating sides fastened elegantly.

(Winter 2010)

Quoted

"Turning pieces of ropes into ferocious snakes!"

(Spring 2011)

Transit

The time ends for strangers
who shared a night
on a park bench.
But I will keep the smile that sneaked
up the side of your mouth
when I said it.

(Spring 2011)

Cello (Experiment Revised)

The strings of weave, final and emerging--
crane-coiling-- (^
                               I know your music;
I feature the shut it disperses to meet.

Me to shape with paper twisted,
tension in sleep;
Me to see yet be, and I swear silken--
breath I roll plain to strain door locks.

I, the familiar scent of apart;
I reach for tendons and body.
What to you new compels dreaming,
dissolves worlds, ropes on figures.

I note fingers in the memory;
I name strings
as I and anonymous meet.
I am side-followed, a draw that's easing--

so hear delusion dimensions
and my shoulders close.
Know I am
when our sheets tighten--

we became your outer and quickly learned air
carried between creases and folds.

You are a heat I discern as striving,
and where I see blossoms focus I wander
as a one-and-convinced forget,

until we stand near to plains,
    entrance doors.

This natural standing between,
                                                    that inner between us
and what lingers where I can't descend--
my too-present vibrating sides fastened elegantly.

Android Network (Altered Dadaist Poem)

Status-conscious challenges

application.

Motorola-supported

according    purchasing    finding

                                                      of Smart-phone networks.

                                                   Some network.

Google a different android

with hardware

                         of years,

cameras without consumers

           as animations of phones.

Phones since Google's 200,000 company

200,000 cameras

      appealing something

      operating frustrating benefit

      amid androids

                                 as Phones phones.

Bonanza has par

like slide-introduced Eric-- |    |

                                        |    | the higher

                                                 handset.

App-filled consumers--

    Androids--     Android thoughts in 4G.

(Winter 2010)

Cello (Experimental)

Me to shape with paper twisted,

tension in sleep; find a bare wall.

Me to see yet be, and I swear silken--

breath I roll plain to strain door locks.

The strings of weave, final and emerging--

crane-coiling. My eyes darkened

to each. I know your music;

I feature the shut it disperses to meet.

Hear the delusion dimensions

and my shoulders close;

Know that I am when our sheets tighten--

we became your outer and quickly learned air

you carried between creases and folds.

You are a heat I discern as striving,

and where I see blossoms focus I wander

as a one-and-convinced forget,

until we stand near to planes--

entrance doors.

I note fingers

in the memory; I name strings

as I and anonymous meet.

I am side-followed--

a draw that's easing,

with nothing lacing my eyes.

I, the plain familiar scent

of apart. I reach for tendons and body.

What to you new compels dreaming,

dissolves worlds, roped figures.

I, this natural standing between,

that inner between us

and what lingers where I can't descend--

my too-present vibrating sides are fastened elegantly.

(Winter 2010)

Holding Smoke

This dialogue binds me. It reaps
barriers from my shore,
releasing smoke over outstretched
water. Unopposed, it leads them

to me, makes them free
to stride or stumble through
this distance, whichever
gives them comfort. I resist

this movement and react, falling
back to its center, conceding only

dense borders. I distrust these
mappers’ goals for this space. They
take all for themselves,
surveying beaches and shaking trees

to measure out sections that
present the most pleasant view.
But if they find the center’s
weeds, refuse remaining after fire

that shed this place of its leaves,
of its eaves, of its shelter,
then they’d flee. They’d right
ships and sail into belligerent

seas, if they did see it, if I
revealed it, if I released it.

Cello (Original)

I carry the delusion of new worlds with me. I see strings that weave between
dimensions to fasten the planes. The final emerging
shape, with its elegant creases and folds,
blossoms like a paper crane.

Tendons in my shoulders are ropes
twisted to coiling. I focus on easing their tension and
close my eyes. As I descend into sleep, I wander through a darkened plain
to find a free-standing door. It leads to a bare room with eight sides,

an entrance at each wall and no ceiling. A familiar scent of oak compels me
to open one door, so I enter and see a standing figure. An anonymous
body and face, yet I’m convinced I know you. You must be what lingers
between notes of music. I swear every time we meet I forget

I’m dreaming. Your silken hair, our laced fingers, the heat of breath
so present, until sheets tighten as I roll to my side. Now I

am in the plain. We are standing feet apart and I strain to discern
your features. The inner door locks between us,
followed by the outer, and the plain dissolves as I open
my eyes to dark. I shut them

quickly, striving to retrieve the memory, but it disperses
in this natural air. I can’t remember where we met,
and I hadn’t learned your name. Still, I hear the strings
vibrating as you draw near.

Making Coffee

Bearded man with gloves,
glasses, thick clothes, and a dog
is gathering sticks.
On the fifth branch he pauses,
breathes the wind, and starts again.

Autumn

I check my watch—
it displays seven o’clock.

When I lift my eyes from the curb,
I pause,
    held by stenciled orange mountain
crests before a wall of smeared charcoal.
Cream-pink streaks hang,
like a babe had stretched rain to cotton.

I can tell no drift to the clouds,
though a breath of air warms me.
Each bush and tree beams
colors deep like swelling fruit.
Wings dip and turn,
    mixing and stirring the light.

The world halts, then exhales.

Mayflies

Patterns slip and swell on water,
lanterns for mayflies—
white bodies alive
above prisms of glass and light.

I feel their breaths
press silk against me,
and mays that touch the pond
are swallowed.

Consider Me Lucky

At once the tacit bell rings and scatters
the crowd into hysterics, prompting self-anointed

captains to assemble their supporters in file.
One boss’s subjects align themselves, chins rubbing necks,

ranked in order of declining worth. With a pivot, the shepherd
draws them through corridors and in the cramped room

where I swagger content in behind. As I enter, I pick the corner
farthest from the plastered grins left open

gaping at the honcho. An avant-garde liberal and state-of-the-art
radical, he’s the axiomatic skipper of this ship. And to consecrate

the daily session, he wears his dress shirt unbuttoned and untucked,
exposing the tee that says, “We are building people.”

Drops

I barely notice
my face in palms,
the spotted warmth
across my shoulders,
my crouched and naked body,
the rolling word "never."

Snaps of water surround.

Cups Constant

We cannot keep a city past the rest,

with rising rafters plastered higher yet.

Great gates and guns restrict the passage best,

so aim them West. Let fire break this net.

Use savior like a length of braided lines

tied high. He cascades the neck on the drop.

Display the body past the spraying pines,

left clean from drips as sand-buffed shells, thin plops

on feathered shores. Brushed past by dense water

alone, to fill and pour as cups constant.

And we are breezes of wales. Ceaseless daughters

left scattered to drag our feet in sand.

We build and we stack high

around this land like stalling night.

(Fall '10)

Remembering Spring

You sapped the shades from roses,
stripped the bark off trees,
left faces and cities twisted in ice
to bend sunlight to your sky.

If we brush shoulders on a lamp-lit street,
keep the pictures inside your pocket.
Their traces can never sketch our portrait
in the dirt left under our feet.

When we speak, give me reprieve;
let my Earth spill with light.
Lift up your foot, its sole ragged and torn,
and hurry your pace through the night.

We could be altered then.
Your face the scent of dust.

(Fall ’08)

Hidden Skyline

She stands at the edge
watching those below.
They rush toward picnic benches,
for places in line.

She lays her hands on
the cool guardrail,
feels her nails click
on the metal bar.

Buildings stand tall before her.
Streets collect wind from
the ocean, the smell of salt
and the dampened air is
a crisp apple on her tongue.

Neon signs create a blurry luminescence,
change faces into impressions.
She imagines they are spirits,
beings searching for a final
parking lot.

(Fall '08)

Exchanges

stretched over railing

free to sky,

rock monoliths and

humming street lights

I, a peak

in held time;

drawn heat       as smoke released

                       to mingle;

birdgirl moves close behind,

                                               embraces

                                       exchanges heat

rests her cheek on my shoulder

 and sighs

with countless beings,

lights and air,

opened air

I am far and

                                intensely here

where sky holds


(Fall '10)

Pressure

A break in concrete
is a wave through mountains,
like feathers of silt carried on
past the station.

Layered granite presses
the soil,
its weight chokes like smoke
flooding the subway.

Say the ground aches,
say my thoughts bake to the afternoon's rhythm.
Our wheels are not the measure,
and slick-dressed businessmen press behind me.

Here, like so much corner noise, I stand
watching the smiling scars and sunshine.
They smolder as they speak. They are not a river,
far from a cooling wave.

(Fall '08)