Nite rote

The sound of the ocean is relentless, this is the nite rote

soft she bruises

under the thunder moon

of the hard lightning

as islands appear

I hold the pure color

of the pacific ocean

by twenty forty eight

the caregivers of war

will be Arab

I imagine your imagination is rapid

can I give you this bite of love

before you turn into a bird?

consider the unconsidered

those that have not yet disintegrated

friends inside the chrysalis:

  the alpine butterflys

  the hunched

  the inverted

  the irrevocables

  the storied

  the olds

  the battled

  the catholiced

  the taught

  the caffeinated

  the illuminated

  the obscured

  the satiated

  the insufferables

  the weighted

  the removed

if love in not the only answer

it is probably also disintegration

the magpie’s urges

to tie string on the wind

or bundle the waves

dive into the full moon

resurface on a calm lake

to catch a body

pure stars fall

thunder moon casts the sun at the earth

in honor of souls

her lips conjure blue

from the sky, red from the earth

and me from the horizon

in longing for heat

I want to pick her bones

my heart’s artifact

a thin gypsy’s dreams

train to be enigmatic

fight the Minotaur

by tiny gears inside

any meaning means something

when you crack the sky

in their hollow bones

ravens carry a longing

to be heavier

a crow flies over

a labyrinth or a desert

always turning left

a brief shadow

the largest raven on the island

is watching us

between scattered islands

the time pushes the currents

the tides pull the time

she wears summer well

though it wears her much better

so hot and so bare

his wild endeavor

to hold the whole sky

is put away in sunlight

the appulse

when Jupiter met Saturn

was a symphony

when the world was flat

the horizon was the body’s contours

the past was a foreign country

the undoing of spring

to love something that death can touch

on the summer solstice 

a cold requiem
traces the scars on my hands
what my hands have seen

a cold requiem

traces the scars on my hands

what my hands have seen