It Means No Worries

Sometimes I get these ideas
They swarm my head
Like bees to honey…
When I was growing up
And we visited the homeland
Well, it’s a dangerous place
(For the pampered immune system)
And we had to take these huge, nasty pills
So my mom would crush them up
And mix them with honey
And I’d gulp it down
Every day
Without fail
For the duration of the trip.
And that’s what you are.
A trip.
A spoonful of honey
With a nasty, bitter aftertaste.
Vacation’s over,
Life’s begun.
Red knolls beckon
Like the tolling bell of liberty.
Come sunrise,
Well, hakuna matata.
(Stings are impermanent.)
What a wonderful phrase.

Oscar

eye whites yellowing
wrinkles gathering like tablecloths
a single gray hair paddling out into the abyss
of your beard,
ebony as your irises—
how could I not say beautiful

how could I not say ecstasy
on your skin,
soft as chocolate magnolia feathers
“shea butter, baby”
smooth and weathered

your tongue folding into
exhalation’s plummet
smoker’s snores building up beneath your teeth
the summit, the ripple, the gullet   

bites bearing babies down your neck
nibbling down to silk’s leather
the hips grind, the breath’s caress
how could I not say
                                  yes! 

*feedback much appreciated!

bird watching

ghost egret,
she wades in the rivers our fathers planted
wing-wise

ghost egret,
she glides in gilded clouds our mothers cried
eye-wise

ghost egret,
she pounces on trout our brothers threw back
beak-wise

eye snare the sunset,
blood bleeding
softly

smoldering tropical sage
thunder brewing in our
stew marsh pot
wind lifting florida’s red lips
kiss-wise

ghost egret,
steward our memories
bloodlet our minds float
bone-wise

Wrapping A Gift

Perhaps she'll enjoy
This gift I've gotten.
As opposed to the icy
Facade I've become
Accustomed to.

This paper refuses to
Fold neatly over the
Suggested shape of
The feeble box.
Damn paper.
Why must you crinkle
With rebellion and
Crease in murky mischief?
I think only to thwart
My desperate effort,
For I need, I require,
I so sadly desire
That she see this gift
As perfect.

And now I tie the ribbon
In a foolish way,
In lurking loops held
Loosely by a clumsy knot.
And though it's not picturesque,
Though I'm sure she could expect
Much better,
The thing is wrapped
And the knot is tied.

Trouble Sleeping

I'm tossing, turning, thinking

About things I was forgetting

But they've come right back

To slap my face, unsuspecting.

When sometimes everything's a

Question and nobody has the answer

And I'm stuck inside these sheets

Underneath, between, below,

My limbs tangled up within a dream

Where pillows muffle any scream.

I am hanging in a spiderweb

Stretched tight across an abyss

By networks of tiny threadworks

A million separate pieces meant to

Somehow make me strong

In a delicate web that catches it all.

Too much is blowing with the wind

And my web I fear is breaking

And I can't find the threads to sew it back

Or even try replacing.

Get me out of here, for God's sake

I can't take this anymore

Because there's futility in hiding

And my subconscious overcomes me

When everything locked in the past

Comes creeping up behind me.

No matter where the place to rest,

Or the kinds of thoughts I try to keep,

Dark memories, unwanted things

Always find me in my sleep.

Rigid Roots

It's only human nature
To crave something better,
To wonder why we're imperfect,
To hate everything wrong
And glorify everything right.

And we try, we strive,
We hope and pray
And will ourselves to be
Different, we rid ourselves
Of sources sick with
Self-consciousness,
And endorse the components
Of the ever elusive euphoria
Of comfortable self-acceptance.

But though the tree may
Shed its leaves
And strip itself bare,
Later to rebirth itself anew,

The tree is still a tree,
With all the imperfections of before,
With all the beauty of before,
Still the tree it was before.

Desires Indisposed

I could be standing
(Or sitting) in the midst
Of golden monkeys swinging
From trees mysteriously concocted
To sway in harmony
Yet emulate discord.

I could keep step with
Screaming centrifugal and
Yelping centripetal forces
Making a molehill of a mountain.

I could reinvent, redefine,
Relish and refute
Everything, nothing, anything
And shine it into the cosmos
To the eager eyes of the infinite.

Yes, I could be occupied
With things incredibly worthy,
Even more so than you.
But stochastic systems
Make me circle the drain
To a gutter filled with ghosts, whisperings,
Hope that refuses to fade,
And the soft echoes
Of unsuppressed laughter.

Scatter the pulses of my impulsive brain,
The residual glop that was once insulation.
Dig out some dopamine
Please, it’s in excess,
Reacting to every syllable,
Every glimpse, like Hiroshima and
Nagasaki giving birth
In the valley of despair.

No, there’s only one notion
That continually piques my frazzled spirit:
I wish I meant as much
To you
As you have always meant
To me.

Substance

Mirror, mirror, on the wall
Why don't you tell me why
The face you show me every day
Is as good as a lie?

If I break you, will it matter?
Will it change my life at all?
If I don't have any pride,
Then what's the meaning of a fall?

The enigma of the ages
That we all try to ignore
And we say it's not important,

but it's what we're programmed for-

But we're above it. And I see
That it's all trivial, at most
What's it good for?

In a decade, it's a memory; it's a ghost

An ethereal illusion
That I cannot quantify
And it's importance is not great enough
To bother me to try

My hands are like the earth, they feel,

My mind is like a fire...
And the ocean swells in rhythm

With the mood of my desire

And all this separated
From your face of polished stone
So when I face you, I'm laid bare
So when I face you, I'm alone.

Spillings

I was a box accidentally kicked over,

Whose contents spilled onto the floor.

Some rolled under the sofa, snuggling with

The soft discomfort of dust and misuse.

Some broke on impact, cleanly in two

Pieces. They wouldn't fit back together.

I was forgotten, and swept into a corner

Left cold and alone on a sharp tile floor.

I tumbled. Places I didn't mean to go,

I was empty. You don't stay stationery

When you're weightless, you know.

I lost gravity; or was pulled by something

Else. Like pressing your weight against

A doorframe, for so long and letting go.

Weightless, shaking, drifting.

Oh the places you'll go

When you feel there's nowhere

You belong, and that pure existence

Is like waking up to chains

And never seeing the daylight.

The weight of feeling pulls me under

Time and time again. Down to grit

And darkness and truth. The umbre

That lacks acknowledgement, for fear.

Feeling pulls you abrubtly around

by the shoulders and violently holds you

To stand in front of a mirror that is

A liquid pool of reflection

Where you stoop and reach down

To pull up the past to face it all.

You sit drenched in despair,

In a puddle of your own misfortune.

Bad luck, wrong turns and

All those guts you should have listened to.

But by and by I dried. Believe me,

I never thought I could heal

Surrounded by my shadows.

If you look past your feet though,

You'll see shadows never appear

Without brilliant and captivating light.

Light will paint the way with constellations,

And I stumbled along the path,

Tripped and fell a time or two

Or three, and on the ground

I found under the sofa, hiding in the corner,

Myself made whole.

Pawleys Island

nights, we would scuttle to the ghost crab shore
sands’ soft relief beneath dusk skies
singing to the moon’s rise:
the smooth copper penny glowing redder
growing to echo in the dune shells
the summer tree frogs singing heat songs
the sticky sink of earth’s marsh side,
the seaside sinking at high tide
sea oats swaying in the moon’s cloister,
glowing golden yellow

we listened to ghost stories at the fort campsite,
the voice from the storyteller glowing
as the night passed like footsteps…
I had almost forgotten to bow my head at lost lovers
to tread swimmingly in the humility of deep,
sunken as eye sockets
bone smooth as shell underbellies
rippling smile lines winking, twinkling in
universal bliss

this land is land,
granted to us as the night grants the morning heavy dew drops
its history sung to us in the chirp of tree frogs and the
beat of woodpecker bark
its ghosts scuttling like moon shells into each shining sea 

Puzzled

Like lying on your back
Near a tranquil pond,
Staring with uncertainty
At the chaos of the jagged,
Leafy branches of a tree
Grown tall,

So you are looking
At yourself.

The sky is visible,
Perceivable, tangible,
Entirely possible.
But that tender blue
Sublimity is clouded by
The barbed branches'
Twisted obstruction.

You have, perhaps,
A fraction of the puzzle;
The rest of that soft blue
Picture darkened
Overwhelmingly with
Irregular, irrational
Missing pieces.

And though it is quite daunting,
Though it appears so difficult,
Be thankful you are not looking
At that puzzle's reflection
In the still surface of the pond
You lie next to.