truth.

Source: truth.

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5/10/17

right at the edge
where and when
rain turns to snow a land
not waiting
not lying but
echoing with whispered
lightning and
wisping away with wind
your words
soak through my wool
coat and
cling to my skin like
crystals and oh the
weight of your words and oh the
weight of your silences

5/3/17

from winter’s long righteousness she
wakes, twists her hair once
twice
three
times, a motion not yet a
ritual

her unfurling dance, slow as a
rose, blooming,
twists once
twice
third time a woven charm against
late frost

dry-cold wind
heaves its full belly along,
brushing against still-brown
meadow grass

she plunges scarred-warrior
fingers into the earth, once
twice, three times deep
and deeper down
where truth hides waiting
for a savior

 

4/27/2017

Rainfall,
our hands outstretched
like worshippers
in a Godless church surprised
by the Angel of the Lord

no shadow no light
but the country in
between:
not heaven not
hell but human simply
human and desire and
sacred and profane,

thirst rubs
against
our raven throats:
a joyful croak unto
the Lord

4/17/17

when they laid poor jimmy out he had
three coins in his pocket
two pictures in his wallet
one ring on his finger

the coroner clanked them all into a pan
swished the blood from his hands and
dialed the family’s number but

before they could catch the late
bus downtown it was
closing time at the morgue:
even morticians need time at
home (though the
dead are left alone)

at night so jimmy’s
family had to wait to
say goodbye

4/14/17

March frost yields to
April’s morning dew: worlds of
silver, gold, and decadent,
wasteful green…
In other news:

their children’s faces and
the faces of our own, carved by
the same Hands:
lie cracked under
shattered under brick ruins,
eyes fixed permanently
on Heaven…

restless, ravens circle and
call, war
rages in the earth and
upon it–relentless
ravens
circle:
seed against stone
east against west
wind against the dusty, dusty ground:
ravens, relentless,
circle
winter’s sharp edge against
spring’s youthful green

 

 

 

4/13/17

poetry drips and
falls drips and
falls from the
leaves of April’s
house drips
and falls like rich
milk useless In the
mouths of

my countrymen whose
teeth grow early and
crooked whose
tongues lick lies

drips and falls on
fetid infertile
fields sown
In war in
salt in
blood
and

innocence

whose mouths suck end-
less-
ly whose
gullets swallowed their
own hearts and yet
gape
unsatis-
fied

I slouch east
through
my all-day mornings, a
clipper-ship shadow
just ahead of a
wake of poems
and mistakes
strewn behind me–
the paper trail, eternal
monuments to fleeting impressions
mistakes
and clumsy
attempts
at covering
my crimes