Touching the Art.

Thursday, March 3, 2016

the persistence of memory.

she refuses to end sentences with terror

though images of vacant desert landscapes

force the last breath of air from her lungs

seconds are melting incomprehensible

a soft voice answering and consoling

though she is holding hostage a velvet rage

she watches a woman dousing wreckage with the sea

a bare branch and timepiece on a bedside table

drown by rebirth and the flocks are coming

Friday, February 19, 2016

mosaic.

I wake slowly to Chet Baker, the

sullen notes sliding against the walls

through the emptiness of rooms,

sweeping past my cheek at daybreak

I have written these poems,

hundreds of times

reliving our demise and rebirth

another drawing, ouroboros

there is your left eye, my hair

in sunlight, the scar

on your wrist, your lips

even when you slept next to me

you drove east, dragging

my heart behind your car, the

Bridgers in your rear view mirror,

deceit and worship swimming

in your mouth like eels

crossing Lake Street I glance to the sky

through branches, a pair of ravens

I want them to tell me why, my feet

in rhythm on the snow and ice

restructuring the shards you left me

Thursday, February 18, 2016

deluge.

in the scarlet moment of drowning

when I inhale, gasp, inhale

exhale, repeat

in the matter of what seems a second

you are unaware of your cold fingers

the dull ache, the firm grasp, the

loss tangled within my hair

clutching my face and neck

your fingers no longer entwined

in my empty hands

peering down at my body

a pale shadow drifting through dusk

I doubt our existence and

beauty, tranquil limbs

a gentle heap of weightless bones

paralysis, the immeasurable silence

before surfacing will save me

Thursday, February 4, 2016

february.

through smudged windows, looking northward

over damp landscapes swathed in nightfall

the eye of the mind knows the heart, and

she knows you from another time, a

recollection beneath chasms of flame

ardor pulled tight to your chest, the brazen words

parting quietly with lilies in the morning mist, a

wandering grief veiled behind your eyes

Sunday, January 24, 2016

algorithm.

in the strangling moments before waking

I have been hunted by the shadows

whispering beside the bed

premonitions borrowed

until my eyes adjusted to the light

with a pencil I have drawn pain

in the eyes of others

she who could see through you

while I erased the darkness

defining our contrast

I have stared down loneliness

peering out from the corners

I have stood close beside you

smothered and alone

I have walked a path

tracing the terrible ascent

from beneath the foundation

I have retraced our steps,

finding a way back to sunlight

before waking to a blackened ceiling

why could you not hear me

over the whispers of shadows

you writhed in the moments before waking

my warmth was out of reach

while you were hiding from the sun

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

a love poem.

when we spoke late that night

my voice the unfurling little frond

your words wrapped in cumulus clouds

I commented on your lack of accent

you drove for hours on

the day that my hot hands

smelled of garlic and finely minced shallots

freshly washed sheets on the bed

with a hint of delicious night

it was 98 degrees in the shade

you acted as if you weren’t afraid

were we as absolute as the sky?

you pretended I didn’t scare you half to death

the morning you drove east

oxygen crept slowly from every room

slipped from under the doorways

the barometric pressure drew me to the floor

I can’t remember if I asked you to come back