.

of it we never took notice before

so small efficient and loyal
then cut, it’s alive! grows putrid to catch
infection. yuck: oozing white mess
levied with pains from the growing

red flesh now severed. we call that healing?
yep, we’re all cut. some are cut through,

left angry, weeping because we’re all whelps,
plus—we miss the uncut heart and

of course we never took notice before.

.

.
soil and oak, both toil, but

oak alone can reach that shelf, that topmost shelf.
oak sees soil’s legs are short, his torso is abrupt. Poor choice, says
oak, who finds a pie on top that shelf with views of sky. up there,

oak spies a Wealthy life.

oak eats the pie and drinks sunlight which helps him grow.
oak suggests, you should try some—get your own.
oak dies the day soil tries to choose a taller height.

soil eats oak, tastes pie.

Why not live where it's warm

.
?

united
we stand just beneath
the swinging gold powers
we’re all so tiny in grandfather’s clock
Pendulum prized old jewel
sometimes on their side
sometimes on ours
both sides try
both sides fail
to make it stay
and then we all trade
places red rover over the border
--on a hinge the Pendulum swings called--Antietam--Israel--Waterloo
--the 38th Parallel--the 28th of June in Sarajevo
--China’s Wall--Berlin’s Wall--the middle white aisle in Senate’s hall
blood runs red from uniforms blue
united and small we stand dirty
wet boots on tired old shoulders
reaching leaping building
tall towers some try
using rope like a
floss-sized
noose
some die
both guilty
both justified
it swings then back then forth
in grandfather’s clock
we all fight
united

.
At last I find you, at night I find you.
I rush, my arms I use to reconnect.
Against your lips and perfect cheeks I press,
Caress, and hold you, and lift you at your waist.
You let me. You smile. I smile, you let me.

You and I were there together, at last,
But you won't remember, can't remember
My haunted dream last night, which would be true,
Me with you, if I'd found you. It would be,
But dreams cut short. You forget me.

Fertile Spring

.
Winter's white cloak leaves.
Silent truth makes fresh their mess,
Dead with muddied rot.



(Jumbled Haiku from Winter's Mess)

Winter's Mess

.
Muddied, dead leaves rot.
Winter's fresh cloak makes silent
Their mess with white lies.

..

“Decide,” said Dad
Inside our house, “or there’ll
B3 unhappy people—you
Me, and your mother.”
Right then I felt my insides
Bite. Arranged marriage. What a
Waste, never to chose my own wife,
Taste the freedom of a
Poorly-informed decision. “I’m
Sorely afraid that she’ll make me
Sick.” I said. And then, so
Quick, Dad points at Mom. “I was
Denied that freedom. No chance to
Decide for myself. I didn’t think she could
Satisfy me. But our love you can’t
Buy, or Consume like candy. You think in a
Bar you’ll find someone like her? Maybe.
Far from likely. Trust me. When you’re
Done loving choice, start Producing love, choose
One choice: to love. And love that choice.”



(Transposed from The Vending Machine)

.
Time passes. We're now
The product of past seasons,
Praying to see Spring.

.

Not a ball and chain,
but security during
Winter wind and rain.

.
They call you barren, obstinate and proud.
I call you clever. Steal you dry, that seed
Will swell and spread while filth covers your head
With foreign leaves, Dead brown, orange, and red.
Oh! They moan and fret, regret, but don't let
In that eager seed. You clever dirt, you.
No. Don't let in that eager seed or
You might find what living Life can mean.

.
Shift in pitch
On stormy swells and liquid knells
Make sailors sick.

Keeping eyes on calm horizons are these weathered men

No longer; now
Distracted by the silent sly
Grey fog and mist

They pray for mill
Stones and a chain, a hearty chain
To stop the pitch

And drag them down
To promised calm where siren songs
Have made their graves

Free from pitch and sway.
Oh, give them that horizon red, and take away that grey!

.

Green,
A pleasant thing, they say.
On leaves in trees at spring,

In low mountains with clean air,
By private meadows with flowers,
Far from city care;

Peaceful moss on tired logs,
In clear ponds during rain showers
Filled by small turtles, frogs.

The cool color that covers everything
Impossible to glean, fills the heart all day
With warm unpleasant envy.

.
At it all day is he
With three minutes to sit
Under gnarled old tree,
Feeling free, loving grass,
Thanking the breeze,
Thinking dirt is soft after
Teaching it honesty,
Finding respite in shade,
Resting sore hands and worn,
Loving Rich watermelon is he.

Yes, his young successors
Avoid dirt, neglect trees,
Think less of grass,
Withdraw from breeze,
And assess melon to be
A Poor choice for filling
Full bellies at play, having been
At it all day.

.
Black bark and vibrant
Spring leaves--this old wise tree with
No house to clutter.

.
The urn, he has enough to spare
When the ladle removes and shares.
The urn pours, he's clean now that he cares.

He trusts the black towel, he gives to it plenty.
But now there's cold chrome reflecting where
The blood-red hearts should be, now empty.

.
Feel inside; try to
Fill round holes with this season's
Shiny squares you buy.

Seeds

.
Sunflowers love and dream of the sunlight
and follow the warm glow
and everything bright

Inches each day into sky is their breach,
With ups and outs they grow
to ambition they leach.

So quickly time passed with Heads wide and tall,
Wrinkled necks thin and bowed,
Tears are dry seeds, they bawl.

Sunlight has made heavy heads
and dry soil for final resting beds.

Editors

.
Through multi-colored lens
The story clears
When looking back.

We’ve buried all the bones
Since taking smears
While looking back.

Lovebird

.
Caged
Bright-feathered
Lovebird fakes a lovesong
Alone. Her instincts wait and ache for him
to arrive. She sighs with eyes fixed
on the door, and cries on the floor. Save her!
The bright feathers
Droop and fade
While she
Dies.