play out

i was on the other side, i was blind and silent as numbers. i was an instrument of parachuting clouds, i was a fugitive and an oath to the moon. i was sown into the plaited earth, i was boys running and assailing open fields. i have sons whose purity heaved with the wildness of the forest, and who listened to the great overtures of the Mother when she sang. sons...

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she doesn't like the rain through the window

she doesn't like the rain through the window, and a kiss is a prayer. she doesn't like the reeling gravity of a destroyed passion either. but she loves like a whirling Eros, and her hands are growling. (this is a woman who abandons the sea for the beach rose after all.) she says people are good because they are and they want to be, but she doesn't like the...

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unglassed

i'd like to think they put them here, in some half-insouciant effort to be found by a lover who takes them, in a fit of passion, the way that happily- ever-after tied things up nicely for you-know-who. the world has never worked that way, really. it's filled with the dead ends of guilt and the traffic stops of never-ending untidy shame in which so many of my friends have...

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all the bells that ring

all the bells that ring above the confounding swirl of this meager life are made from the dust of the innocent heart-core of the premiere stars. children, beholden to which life they illumine, - before their great course - are cast in this stock by the hands of some divine intervener force, and then released down onto the unsuspecting...

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