THE BURNING
PENCIL SKETCHES
Staying home,
I caught naughty elves
watering my piano,
growling inside my head.
Faucet drops
beating out in harmony a drum tatoo
to the tune of a plugged drain,
the careless postures of indifference
retold lives lived on spindle shanks
caught on the obligatory
insipid train
of obliging a pantry full
of ones you love.
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EMPTY WARRIORS
The jungle where the meow goes in, is
a forest for hoodlums.
Trucking up, the empty warriors
breakfast on lost impatience,
apricot fields away.
Now see them speed away.
Their lollipop cars drizzling in the sun.
Their apathetic stares really cantaloupe harvests,
left too long in the sun.
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THE KEEPER OF THE JEWEL
The keeper of the jewel.
I file it down,
keep it smooth.
I can be found any day,
busy disguising the
jaded and unproved.
I follow forget-me-nots
in a forest pool.
I undo knots
in groves of shallow trees.
I pretend unfit sores can sit
alongside water smoothed
pebbles in a sunlit stream.
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ROWING WITH CRAYONS
I see children rowing with crayons
across a park lagoon.
They are sagging,
they have just killed a blackbird playing:
the lot of you,
scribbling to school.
Later on, I retrieved
the pieces of paper, ink covered, from a field.
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COLLUSION
A surtax on the ecosystem;
so many raindrops, mists
and bud breakings
record spring days,
that the movement of sap
fluids and other vital
juices involves all life on a colossal
scale; beyond puny human understanding
why green shoots shed restrictions
at the parochial level.
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GOSSAMER THREADS
I feel like cutting my finger,
hiding upside down
clinking a canteen
shelling peas along the floor.
From the focal point above
anything could be.
Light dripping upon
forlorn gossamer spreads
like a balloon.
Merely the vantage point
of a perspective
quietly threading.
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A FACE
A face in the mist, with rain around,
clings to bare leaves frowning.
A face through the mist, convulsed,
plays stationary, perching from twigs.
A face, not knowing it, trust it is good.
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THE BURNING
The sun is a burning magnet on the water.
Durable, our boat is a sizable pretzel in the arms of the bay.
Warmth with contortion, the clash of passions
tug the funnelled swooned water.
Greenery, that inlet of the ocean,
lies precarious and submerged.
Life, subsidized by water,
is within its hope, bubbling in embers,
froth drunk with suds
hammered against the boat's edge.
What is this, this sky
home of the transparent sun.
Blue agony,
burning up with delerium,
the wet pastel illusion slides against our craniums.
Crass, crass the movement of the waves
across a low bow, excessively pleasant.
All the more
troubled vistas
blue with hegemony over earth,
drowsiness dropping a plague of lapping edges;
a strength pried from graves.
This sea of ours sags, heaves in deep
displacement, fulfills my liquid caress.
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